“Not necessarily,” Louis said. And then, his voice surprisingly bitter, “You’re not perfect, Vincent. Neither are your men or the equipment you use. So do me a favor and stop pretending you’re God.”
The helicopter passed and Ryan’s pale face was caught in the light as it wavered like water into the office.
Spocatti stared into that face-saw the stern line that was Ryan’s mouth, the nightmare that was boiling in his liquid-brown eyes-before he watched it slide back into darkness. He wondered at exactly what point the man’s mind had begun to turn. He wondered to what extent Ryan realized his carefully orchestrated plan was souring.
“I want you to keep an eye on Michael,” Louis said. “I want you to increase security around him, record his every move. He’ll be at the funeral tomorrow-I’m sure of that. Since there’s no telling what he has planned after that, watch him. I have a feeling he’s going to try something.”
“I can take him out,” Spocatti said.
“Not until I’m finished with him.”
“And when will that be?”
Louis lit another cigarette and, for an instant, his face glowed in the fiery globe. “Tuesday,” he said. “When we bury the rest of them.”
BOOK FOUR
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
“It really is special,” the Realtor said. She was standing in the center of the large, empty foyer and her voice echoed off the stark white walls. “As you know, apartments on Fifth are rare, especially in the 50s and 60s. And this is a penthouse, which obviously further amplifies its appeal.” She let a silence go by. “If you want to make a statement and live on Fifth Avenue, this is the place to do so. Few in the city are better.”
She allowed the man a moment to take in the space.
“Let’s take a tour,” she said.
The apartment was large and airy. It comprised two floors and boasted sweeping views of the city. It was completely white throughout-white walls, white carpets, white woodwork, white marble floors in the bathrooms, white fireplace in the library, everywhere white, white, white.
“From what I hear, the owners are arty, eccentric types,” the Realtor said as they moved through the living room and stepped into the dining area. “They’re old money from Iceland and word has it that they missed their country so much that they surrounded themselves in white, in a sense giving them the illusion of being lost in a blizzard.”
“You don’t say?”
She caught the sarcasm and couldn’t help a laugh. “It’s what we’ve been asked to say. Whether it’s true, I can’t say. But I can confirm that the apartment was featured this year in Architectural Digest.”
The man walked down a bright hallway and stepped into the library. She followed. “This is my favorite room,” she said. “The windows sell it. That’s a true New York view. You easily could fit two-hundred people in here for entertaining. And at night, it’s magnificent. With that backdrop, you can imagine how beautiful it is in here.”
The man moved to the far set of windows. Hands clasped behind his back, he looked across 53rd Street to the city’s newest hotel.
The woman stepped behind him. “And then you have that,” she said. “The largest hotel in New York. Four thousand rooms, all of them booked for the weekend. Tonight is the opening night party. You’ve heard that Leana Redman is managing the hotel?”
“Didn’t she just bury her sister yesterday?”
“She did.”
“And now she opens that hotel tonight,” he said. “That’s a pretty quick recovery, wouldn’t you say?”
The woman didn’t say. “Do you like the view?”
“Very much,” he said. “But I wonder if I might see it at night?”
“Of course,” she said. “I could show it to you tomorrow evening.”
“No,” the man said. “I’m leaving the country tomorrow morning. I won’t be back for weeks and you may have sold it by then.” He turned away from the window and looked at her. “I’d like to see it tonight. And, if the view is as spectacular as you say it is, it’s likely that I’ll just write you a check for the full amount.”
The woman kept her features neutral, but her mind was working. After calling in a number of favors, she had secured an invitation to the opening of The Hotel Fifth. She had spent a fortune on her dress and almost as much on having it tailored to her body. There was no way she could show this apartment tonight. The connections she could make tonight were invaluable.
And yet this apartment had been on the market for months. The asking price was $25 million. Because of the recession, here was the first person in weeks to show genuine interest in it. She couldn’t lose this sale, for professional and personal reasons.
The man was watching her, waiting for a response. “If it’s a problem,” he said, “I can always look elsewhere. I really need to wrap this up today.”
“No,” the woman said. “That isn’t necessary. It’s just that I’ve been invited to that party tonight. Leana Redman and I are friends. She invited me herself. It’s important that I attend and help her through what likely will be a difficult evening.”
His gaze met hers levelly. Unflinchingly.
The woman sensed he didn’t believe her.
“Look,” he said. “If this party means so much to you, I wouldn’t mind coming here alone tonight and checking out the view for myself. Just give me a key and I’ll return it to you tomorrow morning, before my plane leaves.”
“That’s actually against the law,” the woman said. “I’m not allowed to do that.”
“It’ll just be me.”
“I could get into trouble,” she said. “I could lose my license.”
“Or you could make a $2 million commission. Who will know?”
“The doormen.”
“Doormen can be dealt with,” he said. “A little charm, a lot of money-and they become your best friends.”
She thought about this and made her decision. “All right,” she said. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble. And if this stays between us.”
“Of course,” the man said, gazing across at the hotel. “Just between us.”
They awoke in each other’s arms to the abrupt sound of music.
Michael lifted his head from the pillow and glanced at the clock on the bedside table. He would have given anything to have awakened anywhere in the world but here. He knew Leana had to get ready for the day and so he let the music play. She moved closer to him and murmured something.
Michael put his arm around her and gently kissed the back of her neck. Neither had slept well. More than once in the night he turned to find her looking at him, her face pale and watchful in the moonlight, her eyes heavy and dead with memories of Harold and Celina.
Yesterday morning, at her sister’s funeral, he stood alongside her and her parents at an elegant Connecticut cemetery. He was a fraud grieving for a woman he hadn’t known, yet easily could have saved.
Yesterday afternoon, while Leana tried to rest, Louis phoned, again threatening him with Santiago. Silently, bitterly, Michael listened, but what Louis didn’t know is that Michael knew that Santiago didn’t exist and that Michael no longer believed that George Redman killed his mother. Meeting the man and seeing how he spoke about his mother altered the landscape. He wanted to confront his father with his lies, but instead he spun some of his own, reassuring Louis that he also wanted Redman dead, that meeting the man had solidified his resolve.
His words still lingered in his mind. “I asked him, Dad. I asked him how Mom died, and you should have seen
