All Night Long (28 page)

T
he morning fog still clung to the city when Luke wedged the SUV into an empty space at the end of a quiet residential neighborhood. He switched off the engine, folded his arms on the steering wheel and studied the terrain.

The street where Hoyt Egan lived was lined on both sides with modern apartment complexes, the type that were designed to appeal to successful singles and the upwardly mobile. Each building had been given an attractive, Italianate façade. But when he looked past the superficial architectural elements, it was easy to see the basic square boxes behind the artfully sculpted windows and doorways.

“You’re sure this is the right address?” Irene asked, opening her door.

“Pulled it off the Internet this morning.”

“You’re certain that he’s home?”

“His office staff was very helpful when I asked about his schedule today.”

“What did you do? Promise to make a big contribution to Webb’s campaign?”

“There may have been that implication,” he admitted.

He climbed out and waited for Irene to join him on the
sidewalk. Together they walked toward the entrance to Egan’s apartment building. The ornate sign over the elaborately worked wrought-iron gates identified the complex as the Palladium.

Irene stopped, her hands in the pockets of her coat, and looked at the security intercom. “What makes you think he’ll see us?”

“Don’t worry, Egan will buzz us inside so fast it will make your head spin.”

“Why?”

“Pure fear. Works every time.”

Her expression transformed into a sunny smile. “Fear of you. Sure, that makes sense.”

He was amused. “Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate your faith in me, but I can’t take the credit. In this case, we’re talking fear of bad publicity. Egan is in charge of handling a senator who is on the road to the White House. His job depends on how well he does damage control.”

“I get it. We represent potential damage.”

“We do, indeed.” He punched the intercom button.

An impatient masculine voice, rendered tinny and scratchy by the intercom speaker, answered after only one ring.

“You got apartment three-oh-one,” Hoyt said. “Is this a delivery?”

“You could call it that,” Luke said. “Luke Danner. I’m with Irene Stenson. Remember us?”

There was an instant of frozen stillness on the other end of the connection.

“What do you want?” Hoyt demanded, voice sharpening.

“To talk to you,” Luke said. “If you haven’t got time—”

A screechy, buzzing sound interrupted him. Irene turned the handle and pushed open the gate that Hoyt had just unlocked.

“Come on up,” Hoyt snapped.

The intercom immediately went dead.

Luke followed Irene through the gate into a small, tiled courtyard decorated with a fountain and a number of plants growing in earthenware pots. They crossed the courtyard
and went through two heavy glass doors into a small lobby. There was a door marked
MANAGER
on one side. It was closed.

Irene started toward the elevator. Luke caught her by the arm.

“Let’s use the stairs,” he said.

“All right.” She slanted him a curious look. “Any particular reason?”

“It’s easier to get a feel for the layout of the place that way.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Old habit,” he said. “When you’re dealing with people you’re fairly sure don’t have any reason to like you very much, you can never have enough intelligence.”

“Ah, yes,” she said with a wise air. “Intel.”

“I prefer the term ‘intelligence.’ Sure, it’s a big word for a Marine but now that I’ve mastered it, I like to use it.”

The carpet that covered the third-floor hall hushed the sound of their footsteps, but Hoyt was obviously watching through the peephole because the door of 301 opened abruptly just as Luke raised his hand to knock.

“What’s this all about?” Hoyt demanded, letting them into the small, mirrored foyer. “I’m in the middle of preparing for a series of meetings.”

He wore an expensive-looking dress shirt and trousers. His shoes were freshly polished. He had not yet put on a tie, but Luke decided he was telling the truth about the meetings.

“We’ll keep it short,” Luke promised.

“This way.” Hoyt angled his head toward the front room of the apartment.

It was obvious at a glance that Hoyt had made no effort to coordinate his interior decor with the Italian influence of the Palladium. In fact, as far as Luke could tell, there was no particular design motif to the space at all, unless Workaholic Political Aide qualified as a decorating style.

Luke counted four lines on the landline phone. Hoyt had another phone clipped to his belt. There was a fax machine
in one corner and a copier in another. Most of the walls were covered with newspaper and magazine clippings featuring shots of Webb with various VIPs.

Irene came to a halt in the center of the cluttered living room and shoved her hands into the pockets of her trench coat.

“We want to know what you and Pamela argued about on the day before we found her body,” she said.

Hoyt looked at her as though she had just turned into an alien life form before his very eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“We know you went to see her in Dunsley.” Luke made his way to the nearest wall and studied a photo of Ryland Webb emerging from a museum. Alexa Douglass and a young girl of about nine accompanied Webb. He glanced back over his shoulder. “We know you quarreled.”

Hoyt went rigid. Luke could almost see him running scenarios in his head, deciding how to deal with this unexpected problem.

“You can’t prove that,” Hoyt said.

“Dunsley is a very small town.” Irene smiled thinly. “Did you really think you could visit a member of the town’s most high-profile family in the middle of the day and not be seen by someone?”

“No one there knows me or my car,” he said automatically. It seemed to dawn on him that might not sound like the remark of an innocent man. “I wasn’t trying to sneak around, dammit. All right, it’s none of your business, but I did drive up there to talk to her that day. You can’t make anything out of that. I sure as hell wasn’t anywhere near Dunsley when she OD’d. She was fine when I left her.”

“What did you and Pamela argue about?” Irene asked.

Hoyt’s jaw flexed. “Why should I tell you?”

Luke looked at him. “Thing is, if you don’t tell us why you quarreled with her, we’re going to come to our own conclusions and some of those conclusions may wind up in Irene’s newspaper. You really want that to happen?”

“You trying to scare me, Danner?”

Luke spread his hands. “Well, sure. Seems like the best way to get answers. Got a better idea?”

Irene scowled. “That’s enough, both of you. Hoyt, please, it’s important. I need to know what you and Pamela argued about.”

“Why? So you can try to pin her death on me? Forget it.”

She watched him thoughtfully. “You had an affair with her, didn’t you?”

Hoyt hesitated. Once again Luke could see him doing mental calculations.

“We were an item for a while,” he said slowly. “No more than a few weeks. It was no secret. What about it?”

“Pamela called it off, didn’t she?” Irene said, her voice softening. “When she was a teen, it was always Pamela who ended things. I doubt that she changed much in that regard.”

Hoyt’s face turned a dull red. For a couple of seconds Luke thought he was going to explode. Instead he seemed to deflate.

“I guess I knew going in that it wouldn’t last long,” Hoyt said wearily. “Hell, I’ve worked for Webb for nearly two years. I’d seen Pamela in action. I knew the pattern. But like every other man who got pulled into her orbit, I thought I was different.” He shook his head. “She was like a light fixture. When she wanted you, she turned herself on and glowed for you. When she got bored, she turned herself off. Left you standing in the dark wondering what had happened.”

“When did she end your relationship?” Irene asked.

“Couple of days before she went to Dunsley.” His mouth tightened. “She didn’t give me any warning. We attended a fund-raiser together that evening. I took her home thinking that we were going to go to bed. She stopped at the door of her apartment and told me it had been fun but that it was over. Said good night and shut the door in my face. I was stunned, if you want to know the truth.”

“What did you do?” Luke asked.

“What does any man do in a situation like that? I came back here and poured myself a large glass of scotch. The
next day I tried calling her. There was no answer at her home here in the city. I finally tried the lake house. She answered the phone, but she made it clear she wasn’t going to change her mind.”

“But you drove up to the lake to see her anyway,” Irene said.

“For all the good it did.” Hoyt went to the window and shoved his hands into his pockets. “She told me to go back to San Francisco. Said she had things to do.”

“What kind of things?” Irene asked.

Hoyt grunted and turned away toward the window. “I suppose she was doing whatever people do when they plan to commit suicide.”

“You think the overdose was intentional, then?” Luke asked. “Not an accident?”

Hoyt shook his head. “How the hell should I know? I’m guessing it was intentional mostly because I can’t see Pamela making a mistake of that magnitude with the pills and the booze. She’d been managing her little addiction problem for years. Why screw up now?”

“Did you realize that she might be planning suicide when you left her that day?” Irene asked.

“Of course not.” Hoyt scowled. “If I’d had an inkling that she intended to take her own life, I would have done something.”

Irene studied him. “Such as?”

Hoyt took one hand out of his pocket and swept it to the side. “I would have called her father, for starters. Webb would have contacted Pamela’s doctor. I’m sure they would have worked out a scheme to get Pamela into a private clinic. But I swear I didn’t realize that she was in a suicidal state of mind when I left her. I thought she’d grown tired of me and was getting ready to move on to someone else. Like I said, that was her pattern.”

Irene’s dark brows drew tightly together. “Did you ask her if she was seeing someone new?”

“Sure. She said she wasn’t. Said she was taking a little break. That’s it. I left and drove back here. Next thing I
know, Webb is phoning me at three o’clock in the morning telling me that he’s just had a call from the chief of police in Dunsley. He told me that Pamela was dead and that we had to make arrangements to pick up the body, organize a funeral and meet with Chief McPherson.” Hoyt gave Irene an accusing glare. “After that I did my job; I focused one hundred percent on trying to keep Pamela’s death a private family matter.”

Luke studied a photo of Webb and Alexa speaking to the president at a recent fund-raiser. “Whose idea was it to invite Webb’s fiancée along on the drive to Dunsley?”

“Alexa insisted on coming with us. She felt that she should be with the senator while he dealt with the loss of his only child. She was right. The press loved her at the funeral.”

Luke raised his brows. “The candidate’s loyal, supportive fiancée standing by his side while he grieves the tragic death of a deeply troubled daughter.”

“Perception is everything in politics, just like it is in real life,” Hoyt said dryly.

Luke saw Irene go very still.

“Are you saying that Alexa Douglass isn’t genuinely loyal or supportive?” she asked.

Hoyt seemed startled. “Hell, no. Just the opposite. There’s nothing Alexa Douglass wants more in the world than for Webb to make a run for the Oval Office. Got a feeling she’s already selecting her First Lady wardrobe and making plans to put Emily into one of those fashionable Washington academies where the presidents and diplomats send their kids.”

“Emily?” Irene prompted.

“Her daughter,” Hoyt explained. “Alexa is a widow.”

Irene glanced at the photo on the wall. “Alexa is several years younger than Ryland.”

“She’s thirty-three, to be exact.” Hoyt snorted softly. “But no one seems to care about a little thing like a twenty-year age difference as long as it’s the woman who is the younger one, do they?”

“Is it a love match?” Irene asked.

“It’s a political match,” Hoyt said evenly. “Webb needs a wife if he’s going to make it to the White House. The voters aren’t likely to go for an unmarried president, now are they?”

“Hadn’t thought about it,” Irene admitted. “But now that you mention it, I can certainly see that having a spouse would be a huge asset to any politician running for president.”

“Alexa is perfect for him. Good family, good schools, no scandals. She’s smart and articulate. In addition, her husband left her a very wealthy woman. Also…” Hoyt trailed off.

“Also what?” Luke prompted.

“For years Webb’s father has been after Ryland to remarry and provide a male heir. It’s not exactly a secret that, before he dies, Victor Webb wants a grandson to carry on the family name and legacy. Just between you and me, Alexa was given an intensive physical exam to make certain that she was in excellent reproductive health before the engagement was announced. Also, there’s a prenuptial agreement that states she will make every effort to get pregnant within a year of the marriage.”

“Talk about pressure,” Irene said. “I don’t envy Alexa one bit.” She paused to glance at one of the photos featuring Douglass. “Alexa is the same age as Pamela was. How did those two get along?”

“At first Pamela treated Alexa the way she did the other women Webb had over the years,” Hoyt said. “Which is to say she ignored her. But when Webb announced the engagement, Pamela started taking her damn seriously, I can tell you that.”

“What do you mean?” Irene asked.

“Pamela suddenly decided she didn’t like Alexa very much. There was gossip that she confronted her in the ladies’ room at a fund-raiser a few weeks ago. No one knows what they argued about, but the assumption was that Pamela made it clear she didn’t want Alexa marrying her father.”

“I wonder if Pamela was jealous of her,” Irene said. She
walked slowly along one wall, studying the photos. “She was about to lose a great deal. Alexa was set to take over the role that she had played in her father’s political life for years. Once married, Alexa will become Webb’s hostess and closest adviser. She’ll assume the power and social position that Pamela used to enjoy.”