Before I Say Good-Bye (22 page)

“Look,” Mac said, “Lang didn’t get to where he is now without pulling a few fast ones, so chances are he’s not lily white. I’ll get someone to nose around.” He paused, hesitating to bring up one more problem over dinner. Then he plowed ahead. “But he’s not the only cause for concern right now. Nell, you must have heard about that building façade that collapsed on Lexington Avenue this afternoon?”

“Yes, I caught it on the six o’clock news.”

“It’s just one more problem, Nell. Right before I left the office tonight, I got a call from Bob Walters. Sam Krause was the builder who did the actual work on that Lexington Avenue building. But Adam was the architect of record at Walters and Arsdale who designed the renovation. If corners were being cut—you know, the kind of thing that you hear about, with inferior supplies being used and a slackening of standards—then arguably Adam was the one to have known about it. Several pedestrians were hurt in the collapse, and one is in critical condition and may not make it.” He paused. “What I’m saying is that Adam’s name may come up in another criminal investigation.”

Mac saw the glimmer of anger flash in his granddaughter’s eyes. “Nell,” he said, his voice almost a plea, “I have to warn you about all this. It’s not easy for me. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

Nell flashed back to earlier in the day, when Bonnie Wilson was communicating with Adam:
He is looking at you with so much love . . .
she had said;
 . . . he has forgiven his assailant . . .

“Mac, I want to know every single thing they are saying about my husband, because even if it kills me, I’m going to get to the truth of all this. Somebody put a bomb on that boat and took Adam’s life. I swear this to you: one way or another, I’m going to find out who it was, and when I do, that person will wish he were already burning in hell. As for Walters and Arsdale, I’ll sue them for every penny they’ve got if they keep trying to make Adam the scapegoat for all their own misdeeds and mistakes. And when you speak to those old pals of yours, you can just tell them that for me.”

In the silence that followed, Liz Hanley cleared her throat and said softly, “The steak is coming. Could we discuss something else, the Yankees’ lineup, maybe?”

Tuesday, June 20

fifty-one

A
S HIS DRIVER THREADED THE CAR
through the tortuous morning traffic on Madison Avenue, an edgy Peter Lang mentally reviewed the approach he would take in presenting to Nell MacDermott his offer to purchase her late husband’s property. He sensed that he would have to proceed with care, because when he had phoned to set up the meeting, he thought he detected a note of hostility in her voice.

Funny, she seemed friendly enough when I saw her last week, he thought. Nell had talked about how Adam had been looking forward to working on the project, and how proud he had been of his design.

If Cauliff never told her that he was off the job, then surely there’s no point in telling her now, Lang reasoned. I’ll offer her a better than fair price, he decided; that way she won’t have any reason not to take it. As he considered his options, however, he realized he felt no reassurance in his rationale. Every instinct told him this meeting would not go well.

The car continued to move at a snail’s pace. He looked at his watch; it was ten of ten. He leaned forward
and tapped his driver on the shoulder. “Is there any particular reason why you insist on staying in this lane?” he snapped.

A
S SHE OPENED THE DOOR
to Peter Lang, Nell could not help wondering just how bad the traffic accident had been that kept him from attending the fatal meeting on Adam’s boat. Less than a week had passed since she’d seen him, yet she could not detect the trace of a bruise on his face. Even his lip, which had been badly swollen, seemed completely healed.

Urbane. Handsome. Polished. A real estate visionary. Those were the words used to describe Lang in the gossip and society columns.

Blood is dripping around him. . . . Adam is trying to warn you.
The psychic’s words suddenly flashed into Nell’s mind.

He kissed her cheek. “I think about you a lot, Nell. How have you been?”

“I guess I’ve been about as well as you would expect,” she responded, a distinct chill in her voice.

“You certainly look very well,” he said, taking both her hands in his. He smiled disarmingly. “I feel odd saying that—but it
is
a fact.”

“Nothing like keeping up appearances, is there, Peter?” Nell replied, freeing her hands and leading him into the living room.

“Oh, I suspect you’re a very strong woman who takes pride in keeping up appearances.” He looked around. “This
is
a beautiful apartment, Nell. How long have you had it?”

“Eleven years.” The answer was automatic—dates had been on her mind so much lately. I was twenty-one when I bought this place, Nell thought. I had income from Mom’s trust, and the insurance money from both Mom and Dad. I had been living with Mac all through college, but once I graduated, I wanted a bit of freedom. Mac had talked me into managing his New York office, and I was about to start Fordham Law at night. Mac tried to talk me out of buying the co-op, but even he agreed that I got a steal.

“Eleven years ago, huh?” Lang said. “The real estate market in New York was in a real slump back then. I’m sure that now it’s worth at least three times what you paid for it.”

“It’s not for sale.”

Lang could hear the coldness in her voice and could sense that she did not intend to indulge in small talk.

“Nell, Adam and I were in a business venture together,” he began.

“I’m aware of that.”

How much does she know? Lang wondered, pausing for a moment. He decided to take a chance. “As you no doubt know, Adam had created the design for the tower complex we planned to build.”

“Yes, he was very excited about the project,” Nell said quietly.

“We were delighted with the preliminary work Adam had done. He was a creative and exciting architect. We will miss him terribly. Unfortunately, now that he isn’t with us, I’m afraid we have to start all over. Another architect doubtless will have his own concept.”

“I can understand that.”

So Adam hadn’t told her, Lang thought triumphantly. He looked at her, sitting across from him, her head down. Maybe he had been wrong about sensing hostility from her. Maybe she was just strung out emotionally.

“As I’m sure you know, last August Adam purchased a downtown building and lot from a Mrs. Kaplan, for which he paid a little under a million dollars. It adjoins a lot I have since purchased, and it was part of the equity he brought to the construction deal we had worked out. The assessed value of that property as of last week was eight hundred thousand dollars, but I’m prepared to offer you three million dollars for it. I think you’ll agree that represents a nice return on an investment of only ten months.”

For a moment, Nell studied the face of the man sitting opposite her. “Why are you willing to pay so much money for it?” she asked.

“Because with it, we will have room to give our building complex a more impressive presence. It will enable us to include a number of aesthetic additions, such as a curving driveway and more elaborate landscaping, which will in turn enhance the value of our venture. I might add that when our tower complex goes up, it will have such a dominant presence that your property, assuming you retain it, may actually lose some of its present value.”

You’re lying, Nell thought. She remembered that Adam had said something about the Kaplan parcel being necessary to Lang if he was to actually erect the structure he planned. “I’ll think about it,” she said, giving him a slight smile.

Lang smiled in return. “Of course. I understand. Obviously you’ll want to discuss this with your grandfather.” He paused, then added, “Nell, I may be out of line, but I’d like to think we’re friends and that you can be up front with me. As you must be aware, there have been a lot of rumors around town about you.”

“Are there? What kind of rumors?”

“The rumors I hear, and I hope they’re true, are that you’re planning to announce that you’re running for your grandfather’s congressional seat.”

Nell stood, indicating that their meeting was finished. “I never discuss rumors, Peter,” she said, her face showing no expression.

“Meaning that
if
you announce, you’ll choose your own time to do it.” Lang followed her lead and stood as well. Before Nell could stop him, he had reached out and taken her hand. “Nell, I just want you to know that you have my wholehearted support, in every way possible.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling her hand back. And you’re about as subtle as a sledgehammer, she thought.

The door had barely closed behind Lang when the phone rang. It was Detective Jack Sclafani requesting that Nell agree to admit him and his partner, Detective Brennan, to Adam’s office, and to allow them to examine the contents of Winifred Johnson’s desk and files.

“We can probably get a search warrant,” Sclafani explained, “but it would be much easier to do it this way.”

“I don’t mind. I’ll meet you there,” Nell told him. Carefully she added, “I should tell you that, at her mother’s request, I went to Winifred’s apartment and went through her desk. She had asked me to look for
insurance policies or any other personal financial information that might indicate what steps Winifred had taken to secure her mother’s financial future. Since I found nothing helpful there, I was planning to see if she perhaps had left personal papers in the office.”

T
HE DETECTIVES ARRIVED
on Twenty-seventh Street a few minutes before Nell. Together they stood in front of the office building and studied the architectural model in the window.

“Pretty fancy,” Sclafani observed. “You must get big bucks for dreaming up something as fancy as this.”

“If Walters was right in what he said yesterday,” George Brennan replied, “it looks better to us than it does to people who know about architecture. According to him, the design was being turned down.”

Nell had gotten out of a taxi and come up behind the two detectives just in time to hear Brennan’s remark.

“What?” she demanded. “Did you say they were turning down Adam’s design?”

Sclafani and Brennan spun around. Seeing Nell’s shocked expression, Sclafani realized that she didn’t have a clue that her husband had been taken off the project. How long did Cauliff know it himself? he wondered.

“Mr. Walters was at the district attorney’s office yesterday, Ms. MacDermott,” he said. “That was what he told us.”

Her expression hardened. “I wouldn’t trust anything Mr. Walters said.” With that, Nell turned abruptly, walked to the door of the building and rang the bell for the building superintendent. “I don’t have a key,” she
explained crisply, “and Adam probably had his with him on the boat.”

She waited with her back to the two men, trying to calm herself. If what they had said about Adam’s design was true, why did Peter Lang lie to me less than an hour ago? she wondered. And if it was true, why didn’t Adam tell me about it? Was that why he’d been so preoccupied, so on edge those last weeks? He should have told me. I might have been able to help him, she thought. I would have understood his disappointment.

The superintendent, a burly man in his late fifties, appeared and opened the door for them. In the process he offered his sympathy to Nell and told her he had had inquiries about the space. Would she be giving it up? he wondered.

Jack Sclafani could tell from his partner’s expression that George Brennan had the same reaction to Adam Cauliff’s business quarters as he did: well-enough furnished, but surprisingly small. Basically it consisted of a reception area and two private offices, one large, the other a hole in the wall. To him, the space had a cold, impersonal feeling. Certainly it was not an inviting place and didn’t go far in giving one confidence in the creativity of the people who worked there. The only picture on the wall of the reception area was an artist’s rendering of the proposed edifice, and in this context even it had a shabby look about it.

“How many people did your husband employ?” Sclafani asked.

“He only had Winifred here with him. Today, so much of the work of an architect is done on computer that when you’re starting out on your own you don’t need to take on a big overhead. Adam could farm out
segments of the work on his project to others, such as structural engineers, for example.”

“So the office has been closed since the . . .” Brennan hesitated. “Since the accident?”

“Yes.”

Nell realized that she had spent much of the past ten days trying to sound calm and self-controlled.
Well, now the winch has been turned up another notch
—that was the thought that had run through her head all night, as once again she lay sleepless till dawn. Presenting an outward appearance of calm was becoming more and more difficult.

What would these detectives think if they knew about Lisa Ryan’s challenge to her? she wondered. Because, for all practical purposes, that’s what it had been—a challenge:
Find out where and why someone made my husband take fifty thousand dollars to keep his mouth shut, and help me find a way to make it right.
How do I begin to even attempt to do that? she kept asking herself.