Keeper of the Bride

One was her shoes. The camera’s angle, facing downward, captured a view of her right foot, perched atop a sexy spike-heeled sandal with a delicate ankle strap.

“Not the kind of shoes you wear to court,” noted Sam.

“Not unless you’re out to give the judge a thrill,” Gillis said. “And look at that makeup.”

It was the second detail that didn’t fit. This woman was made up like no lawyer Sam had ever seen. Obviously false eyelashes. Eyeshadow like some tropical fish. Lipstick painted on in bold, broad smears.

“Man, she sure ain’t the girl next door,” Gillis observed.

“What’s the name on the visitor log?” asked Sam.

Cooley glanced at a sheet of paper. “She signed in as Marilyn Dukoff. Identified her purpose for visiting The Snowman as attorney-client consultation.”

Gillis laughed. “If she’s an attorney, then I’m applying to law school.”

“Which law firm did she say she was with?” asked Sam.

“Frick and Darien.”

“Not true?”

Cooley shook his head. “She’s not on the firm’s list of partners, associates or clerks. But…” He leaned forward, a grin on his face. “We think we know where she did work.”

“Where?”

“The Stop Light.”

Gillis shot Sam a look of Didn’t I tell ya? No one had to explain a thing. They knew all about the Stop Light and its stage shows, pasties optional.

“Let me guess,” said Sam. “Exotic dancer.”

“You got it,” affirmed Cooley.

“Are we sure we’re talking about the right Marilyn Dukoff?”

“I think we are,” Cooley answered. “See, all visitors to the prison have to present ID, and that’s the name she gave, backed up by a Maine driver’s license. We’ve pulled the license file. And here’s the photo.” Cooley passed a copy of the photo to Sam and Gillis.

“It’s her,” said Gillis.

“Which means we’re talking about the right Marilyn Dukoff,” said Cooley. “I think she just waltzed in under her own name and didn’t bother with fake IDs. All she faked was her profession.”

“Which is obviously not in the legal field,” Gillis drawled.

Sam gave a nod to Cooley. “Good work.”

“Unfortunately,” added the younger detective, “I can’t seem to locate the woman herself. We know where she was employed, but she left the job two weeks ago. I sent a man to the address listed on her license. She doesn’t answer the door. And her phone’s just been disconnected.” He paused. “I think it’s time for a search warrant.”

“Let’s get it.” Sam rose to his feet and glanced at Gillis.

“Meet you in the car, ten minutes.”

“The blonde’s?”

“Unless you’ve got somewhere better to go.”

Gillis looked back at the video screen. At that still shot of a slim ankle, a sexy shoe. “Better than that?” He laughed. “I don’t think so.”

THE POLICE WERE getting too close for comfort.

Spectre slouched in the doorway of an apartment building half a block away and watched the cops come out of Marilyn’s old building. Only moments before, Spectre had been inside that apartment, checking to make sure Marilyn hadn’t left behind any clues to her current whereabouts. Luckily for him, he’d slipped out just ahead of Navarro’s arrival.

They’d been inside almost an hour. They were good, all right — but Spectre was cleverer. Hours after the theater bombing, he’d hustled Marilyn into a different apartment across town. He’d known that his target might become apparent once they’d pinpointed the bomb placement in the theater. And that Marilyn would inevitably come under their scrutiny. Luckily, she’d been cooperative.

Unfortunately, her usefulness was just about over, and the time had come to end their association. But first, he needed her for one more task.

His face tightened as he spotted a familiar figure emerge from the building. Navarro again. The detective had come to represent all the failures that Spectre had suffered over the past week. Navarro was the brains behind the investigation, the one man responsible for Liddell still being alive.

No hit. No fee. Navarro had cost him money — a lot of it.

Spectre watched the cops confer on the sidewalk. There were five of them, three in plain clothes, two in uniform, but it was Navarro on whom he focused his rage. This had turned into a battle of wits between them, a test of determination. In all his years as a “fuse” man, Spectre had never matched skills with such a wily opponent.

The safe thing to do was merely to slip away from this town and seek out contracts elsewhere. Miami or New Orleans. But his reputation had suffered a serious blow here; he wasn’t sure he could land a job in Miami. And he had the feeling Navarro wouldn’t give up the pursuit, that, wherever Spectre went, the detective would be dogging his trail.

And then, there was the matter of getting even. Spectre wasn’t going to walk away without exacting some kind of payback.

The three plainclothes cops climbed into an unmarked car and drove away. A moment later, the uniformed cops were gone as well. They had found nothing in Marilyn’s apartment; Spectre had seen to it.

Catch me if you can, Navarro, he thought. Or will I catch you first?

He straightened and stamped his feet, feeling the blood return to his legs. Then he left the doorway and walked around the corner, to his car.

Navarro. Once and for all, he had to take care of Navarro. And he had the perfect plan. It would require Marilyn’s help. One little phone call — that’s all he’d ask. And then he’d ask no more of her.

Ever again.

THE DINNER WAS EXCELLENT. The company was wretched.

Daniella, dressed in an iridescent green leotard and a slinky wraparound skirt, sullenly picked at her salad, ignoring the platter of roast duckling and wild rice. She was not speaking to her husband, and he was not speaking to her, and Nina was too uncomfortable to speak to either one of them.

After all those questions by the police, the matter of Daniella’s affair with Robert had come to light. While Nina would never forgive Daniella for that betrayal, at least she could manage to pull off a civil evening with the woman.

Nina’s father could not. He was still in a state of shock from the revelation. His showpiece wife, the stunning blonde thirty years his junior, had not been satisfied with marrying mere wealth. She’d wanted a younger man. After four marriages, George Cormier still didn’t know how to choose the right wife.

Now it looks like this will be his fourth divorce, Nina thought. She glanced at her father, then at Daniella. Though she loved her father, she couldn’t help feeling that he and Daniella deserved each other. In the worst possible way.

Daniella set down her fork. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I don’t really have much of an appetite. I think I’ll skip out for a movie.”

“What about me?” snapped George. “I know I’m just your husband, but a few evenings a week with your boring old spouse isn’t too much to ask, is it? Considering all the benefits you get in exchange.”

“Benefits? Benefits?” Daniella drew herself to her feet in anger. “All the money in the world can’t make up for being married to an old goat like you.”

“Goat?”

“An old goat. Do you hear me? Old.” She leaned across the table. “In every sense of the word.”