Caper (11 page)

I was in Sharon's mom's apartment. The one where Sharon lived with her actual mom, and not with Sharon's fake mom, who also claimed to live there. I'd talked my way past the doorman, who wasn't going to let me in, and had rung upstairs to confirm the fact that Mrs. Weldon didn't want to see me. She'd let me in, if only to bawl me out. Or perhaps stupefied by the fact I actually wished to see her.

“I thought your daughter was in danger. I thought I was acting in her best interests.”

“How could you think that? Are you a moron?”

“Yes, I am. But I had help. A woman posing as you hired me to do it.”

“Hired you to drug my daughter?”

“No.”

“Well, which is it? Were you hired to do it or weren't you?”

“I was hired to get your daughter away from the congressman and bring her home.”

“This woman knew Sharon was with the congressman?”

“Ah … I don't know.”

“What do you mean, you don't know? She either asked you to get her away from the congressman or she didn't.”

“She asked me to get her away from a man. I don't know if she knew the man was the congressman.”

“You mean she never said so.”

“Ah …”

“What's the problem? Either she said so or she didn't.”

“Well, she did, but I don't know if she knew.”

“That makes no sense. What do you mean?”

“Well,
I
told
her
he was the congressman. But I have no way of knowing whether she knew he was the congressman before I told her.”

“Oh, for goodness sakes.”

Jennifer Weldon sank down on her rather nicely upholstered couch in her rather expensively furnished living room. I could either sit down myself, which would be presumptuous, or remain standing, from which position I could see down her shirt.

Her eyes flashed. “Why are you here? What is it you want?”

“I'm not happy with the situation. And I don't mean mine. I'm not here to get you to drop the charges.”

“You want me to drop the charges?”

“I just said I didn't.” I sighed. “That's a lie. Of course I want you to drop the charges. But that's not why I'm here, and it's not what I'm asking. I'm here because I don't like being played for a sucker. And I'm sure you don't, either. Even if you didn't know it. This woman claimed to be you. I don't know why, but you put your finger right on it, asking about the congressman. I don't know if she knew the congressman, but my hunch is she did. My hunch is that's
why
she did what she did. So, I'm wondering if
you
knew the congressman.”

“What are you implying?”

“I'm not implying anything. I'm trying to make sense of a situation that doesn't. There has to be a reason I was duped into doing the things I did. I'm wondering if anyone has a reason to embarrass the congressman. He has a wife and kid. Probably couldn't afford to be caught in a sexual scandal.”

“There's nothing between me and Jason Blake.”

“I never said there was. I'm talking about the scandal with your daughter.”

“There's no scandal with my daughter.”

“I know. But this person tried to manufacture one. If that was done to embarrass the congressman, why would anyone want to?”

“I have no idea.”

“Did he have any project coming up this might impact?”

“I know nothing about his political life.”

“Just his personal life?”

“No, not his personal life. There's nothing about his personal life that would interest anyone. Perfectly ordinary family man. Wife and kid. Stable marriage.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, I am. We know them socially. Our daughter is friends with their son. They've dined here. Valerie's a gem.”

“That's his wife?”

“That's right. And I don't think she'd take kindly to your insinuations.”

“Would she take kindly to me trying to find out who's setting up her husband?”

“Is that what you're doing?”

“It's the only way to clear myself. Look. I'm not the world's best private eye, but I fight for my clients. A woman hired me, and I tried to do what she wanted. That screwed everything up, and I'd like to make it right.”

“Oh, you're just a do-gooder.”

“I already said I wasn't. I'm tired of justifying myself. I've apologized. I've explained. I've told you my intentions. I mean to get to the bottom of this. You know anything that might help I'd be glad to hear it. Otherwise, I'll go it on my own.”

I turned started for the door.

“Wait.”

I turned back.

She got up from the couch, came toward me. “What do you want to know?”

“I was told Sharon was having a sleepover with a friend. That if she did, I could go home. I was told that's what you'd been told. That Sharon had told her parents she was having a sleepover. The mother believed that was just a cover story to get out of the house. I was told that to alert me to the fact that anything Sharon did
other
than go home to a friend's house was something illicit I should put a stop to.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Was that a likely lie? I mean, I know nothing about her, so I'd buy it. But for someone who knew Sharon, was that something she would normally do? Not lie about a sleepover and run off to Philadelphia. Have a sleepover to begin with. I mean, in the normal course of events would she have a sleepover with a girlfriend?”

“Yes. She's done it several times.”

“So. This woman seemed to know your business. You sure that wasn't you in a wig?”

“Now, see here.”

“No, no, I know it wasn't. I'm just saying, whoever pulled this off had all the facts and did it well. It was obviously someone who knew about Sharon's relationship with the congressman's kid, and knew the congressman would fall right into the trap.”

“You mean
you
would.”

“Yes. I would. But I wasn't the principal. No one gave a damn about me.”

“Now you're feeling slighted?”

I grimaced, but that was actually a victory. The woman was joking with me, at my expense. She'd become, like Alice, Richard, and MacAullif, one of the people picking on me. In the realm of my existence, that made her a friend.

Having scored with sarcasm, Mom went on the attack. “This mystery woman. We have only your word she actually exists.”

“Oh, she exists, all right. She's most likely an actress, fed the information, hired to do a job.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Because that's usually the case.”

“Usually? This has happened to you before? That you've been duped by an actress hired to play a part?”

I had, actually. Not that it had anything to do with the present situation. It occurred to me I would do well to keep my mouth shut. “You're missing the point. The point is, whoever did this had inside information. If they're familiar with the parties involved, they probably know them personally. In which case, they need to keep a low profile. If you were behind this, for instance, you wouldn't come into my office and ask me to follow your daughter. You'd hire an actress and prime her to do so.”

“Are you serious?”

“Not about you doing it. But about the way it would need to be done. Now, setting everything aside, can you think of anyone who would want to harm the congressman?”

“Absolutely not.”

I shook my head.

“Too bad.”

23

N
EXT ORDER OF BUSINESS WAS THE CONGRESSMAN HIMSELF.
Unfortunately, he wouldn't see me, and there was no way I was getting by
his
doorman. The son of a bitch knew me from my abortive attempt to get a look at the parking garage security tapes.

On the other hand, the guy couldn't work all the time. He'd have shifts. All I had to do was find the right shift.

I drove over to the East Side, got a meter on Madison, walked over and checked out his building from across the street.

There was a different doorman on duty.

Excellent.

Now all I needed was the congressman to be home. I had done my research in that department. When Congress wasn't in session, he often hung out in his apartment. His son was in school. His wife worked. Anyone there would be him.

Unfortunately, his number was unlisted.

I whipped out my cell phone, called MacAullif.

He wasn't pleased to hear from me. And he was less pleased when he heard why I was calling.

“You want the congressman's phone number?”

“Well, I know you don't want me to apologize in person. But the man must feel wronged.”

“Didn't I give you his number?”

“You gave me his address.”

“And it's too much trouble to look it up.”

“It's unlisted.”

“If I give you the number, you gonna blame me for it when you go to jail?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Even if I tip him off to trace the call?”

“That sounds a little hostile, MacAullif.”

He gave me the number to get me off the phone.

I punched it in, hit SEND.

I got a busy signal.

Great. He was home. But he'd never let me by the front desk. I needed to get upstairs and ring his doorbell.

I called Alice. “Can you get me the number of a tenant at 521 Fifth Avenue.”

“Which tenant?”

“I don't care.”

“Stanley.”

“All right. A female tenant. Get me a woman who lives there.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I'm trying to stay out of trouble.”

“And this will help you?”

“You have no idea.”

“Hang on.”

Alice set down the phone. I could hear her typing into the computer.

It took her thirty seconds. “Mildred Finnegan.”

“How'd you get that?”

“I Googled the address and searched for news articles. A Mildred Finnegan at that address took second place at some bake fair.”

“Terrific. You're sure she lives there?”

“Absolutely. I cross-checked it. Once I got the name, I looked it up and came up with the listing.”

“Great. You got the phone number?”

“Sure.”

Alice gave me the number, and I wrote it down.

I hung up with Alice, called the number she gave me. A woman answered and I hung up.

I went over to Madison Avenue, found a flower shop.

“I want to send some flowers.”

“What kind?”

“The kind that look pretty and smell good. I don't know. A bunch of cut flowers. Can you help me out?”

“Sure.”

The guy looked like he owned the shop, a little old man with avaricious eyes. I could see him calculating the minute I left it up to him.

“Something in the neighborhood of twenty bucks,” I told him.

That dampened his spirits considerably. “Including delivery?”

“No. For the bouquet.”

“Great.”

He grabbed some wrapping papers, picked out a selection of pretty but no doubt inexpensive flowers, added a few greens. “How's that?”

“What's that going to run me?”

“Thirty bucks.”

So. Ten bucks for delivery. Seeing as how it was right around the corner, that was a nice bonus.

I handed him the page from my notebook on which I'd written Mildred Finnegan's name and address.

The florist wrote up the delivery slip, attached it to the bouquet.

“When will this go out?”

“Soon as my boy gets back.”

“When's that?”

“Shouldn't be long.”

“On second thought,” I said, “maybe I'll drop 'em off myself.”

His face hardened. “You wanted delivery. Our price was fixed on delivery.”

“Hey, don't sweat it. I'll pay you for delivery. Here's thirty bucks. I just want it to go out now. I'll drop it with the doorman myself, you don't have to send your boy, everybody's happy.”

“Fine.”

“You got a card?”

“Sure.”

He gave me a little card in an envelope. I think he considered charging me, and thought better of it. I took a pen, wrote, “For Mildred,” on the envelope. On the card I wrote “XXX.” I signed it, “You know who.” I put the card in the envelope and sealed it.

I took the flowers back to the congressman's apartment building.

“I have a delivery for Mildred Finnegan,” I told the doorman.

“You can leave it with me.”

“I was told to hand deliver.”

“I can sign for it.”

“Yeah. They said to give it to her personally.”

“There's no reason for that.”

“There is for me. Could you call up and ask her?”

The doorman figured I was hoping for a tip. He smirked, but he made the call. “Mrs. Finnegan, I have some flowers here for you. Can the delivery boy bring them up?” He listened, covered the phone. “Who are they from?”

“I don't know.” I raised my voice. “There's a card. You want me to take it out and read it?”

The telephone made squawking noises.

“Yes, yes, of course, Mrs. Finnegan.” The doorman hung up the phone. “You can go on up.”

“What apartment?”

“8A.”

Mrs. Finnegan gave me a two-dollar tip.

I felt good I was finally making money on this case until I remembered the flowers had set me back thirty bucks.

No mind. I walked right by the elevator, ducked into the stairwell, climbed the flights to the congressman's floor

I walked down the hall and rang his bell.

There was no answer.

I waited a while, rang again.

Nothing.

I put my head to the door and listened.

It gave. Thank God I wasn't really leaning on it or I'd have been flat on the floor. I caught my balance and straightened up as the door swung open.