Crime & Counterpoint (26 page)

“Well, it’s official,” James said, striding into his father’s illustrious office with slate-grey dimensional ceilings, teal accented walls, panoramic city views, and concealed lighting. Power-tripping, soul-defying, awe-demanding. A fitting work space for the Shark King. “Carter’s ready to throw himself off the Triborough. He’s called six times already wanting an audience with you.”

Henri didn’t look up from his desk nor did his features hint at the numerous processes constantly threading through his well-formed mind. “For what? Did Ron sign the confession?”

James eyed an empty wing-backed leather chair like he desperately wanted to sink into it, but he remained standing and satisfied himself with undoing his tie. “Yes. He did. And so did David. They’re going to be released into protective custody tomorrow with complete amnesty pending continued cooperation.” He unbuttoned his collar and moved towards one of the picturesque, night views of Midtown East.

“Have you spoken to Shelley?”

Sounding faintly accusatory, James replied, “I can’t get a hold of her. Her phone’s off or something. I’ve half a mind to go over and check on her.” He sighed. “I can’t believe Zach went and turned himself in like that.”

“What do you mean?” Henri asked, disinterestedly.

James glanced at his father. “He showed the Feds the video, told them everything. They had him arrested before you and Mom even got back from church. It’s going to make the news that he murdered two members of the Brother’s Circle unless NYPD can figure out how to keep it quiet. Bennet’s hand-picking a prosecutor to make sure they get a conviction.” He scratched his jaw. “It’s ridiculous.”

Now, Henri gave his eldest full attention. “Did he expose Shelley’s involvement?”

“From what I understand he kept her out of it entirely.”

“But she was on the video.”

“Carter didn’t mention anything about her. Zach must’ve cut her out.” James stepped closer. “Why would he do that? Why would he freely admit to two counts of premeditated murder?” He studied his father’s face as if he knew the answer.

“Weak men cave to pressure, James,” Henri replied coldly. “What else is there to say? Perhaps some jail time will do him good, anyhow. He gets in trouble far too often.”

James narrowed his eyes and then strode towards the door. “I thought you might feel that way. That’s why I invited Carter for that meeting he wanted.”

Henri bristled at his son’s high-handedness. “He’s here?”

James smirked bitingly and opened the door. “Carter,” he greeted, finding the hassled attorney right where he’d left him. “Come on in.”

Henri’s chin lifted even as his brows angled downwards. He glanced at the time declaring the waning day. “Carter. I only have a few minutes. Please be brief.”

“Of course, sir,” Carter returned diplomatically. “I’ll have you know that one of your clients will be incarcerated tomorrow unless you help Zach.”

A terse beat passed. “I heard you’re being considered for a promotion. I’m actually having lunch with the D.A. this week. I’ll be sure to drop a good word for you. That is, unless you’ve decided to come on board here.”

Carter swiped a hand over his moistened face. “Alright. Let’s go at this a different way. Did you coerce Zach to be Shelley’s bodyguard, by any chance?”

James looked at his father, piqued.

Henri’s generosity lost altitude as he stood to his feet. “If you won’t tell me which client, I’m afraid we’re wasting each other’s time.”

“It’s Cervenka.”

Henri cocked his brow, ready to fire. “Excuse me?”

“I’m going to Homeland Security.” Carter dipped his tone. “They won’t be discreet. And it doesn’t matter if you warn Cervenka ahead of time, the announcement on the news will be enough to publicly humiliate him, strip his assets, and plunge the stock prices for all associated holding companies. And I know more than half of those CEO’s are your clients as well.”

Henri scrutinized Carter. “I haven’t been home in twenty-four hours. Can’t this wait until normal business hours?”

“Speaking of home,” Carter pressed. “Do you know what
happened
to Shelley last night?”

James came alert with concern.

Henri leveled his dark gaze at Carter. “Sit down.”

It was a relief to be behind bars.

“Glad to see you’re in good spirits,” Lieutenant Fox commented, coming around to check on Zach that night. “But I wouldn’t get too comfy.” He unlocked the door with his key and swung the metal open. “You’ve got visitors.”

Zach didn’t move from the bed, finding the thin, bony mattress to fit his mood. “I refused legal counsel.”

Jordan sighed, disbelievingly. “I know. But I’m pulling rank. So come on. Get your ass out of there.”

He exhaled lead-filled air and forced himself up.

Fox shook his head as the grudging jailbird passed. Not even bothering to cuff him or use any restraints, he pointed down the hall. “It’s the second room. He’s waiting in there.”

Henri glanced over as the door opened and Zach appeared. Their eyes locked, and the lawyer could tell the detective meant to turn right around and leave. “Join me,” Henri ordered, hands clasped at his back.

Zach sauntered in with a careless air which rattled Henri’s humor. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating?”

“What? Your utter foolishness?” Henri scoffed.

Zach’s nostrils flared. “You can’t just let me be, can you?”

“You’re rather forgetting our agreement,” Henri said, as he opened up his briefcase upon the plastic table.

“I didn’t forget anything. That’s why Shelley’s still alive and the club is still open.”

He pulled out a manila envelope and withdrew a document and an SD card. “Cervenka gave this to me just now. It should take care of everything. He says you’ve earned it.” Setting the papers facing Zach, he said, “Sign here.”

“No.”

“It’s just a statement granting me permission to serve as your legal counsel.”

“I said no.”

“You sign here so that I can distribute this evidence of your actions done in self-defense, or you’ll be looking at a life sentence.” Henri stared daggers at Zach. “Lord knows you won’t be getting off for good behavior.”

“Carter threatened you, didn’t he?” Zach taunted. “I apologize for my friend. He’s a bit overprotective. But you already knew that, right? Should make a great son-in-law.”

Henri glared. From his breast pocket, he withdrew a black fountain pen, with gold and platinum inlays. “Your grandfather was a good man, Zach. I respected the hell out of him. He gave me this pen when I became partner, you know. A Montblanc Meisterstück. Whenever I use it, I always think of Robert and what he did for me. The man who saw my potential when no one else would.”

Zach’s face hardened. “You can stop trying to manipulate me. You’ve got nothing anymore!”

“Then why do you look so scared?”

“My grandfather might’ve trusted you, but I don’t.”

“So what? You plan on dying in prison?” Henri sneered. “You’re not getting out of
life
that easily.” He left the pen on top of the agreement.

Brimming with violet anger, Zach kept his head down and his cerulean gaze focused on the table.

“Sign and I’ll secure your release Tuesday at the latest. If you don’t sign… Well, can’t say I didn’t try.” Buttoning his sentence with the click of his briefcase locks, he picked it up and made to leave. “Choose wisely.” At the door, he stopped and said in a slightly forgiving tone, “And I heard about last night.”

Zach’s voice was husky as he asked, “Why don’t you just take her away?”

“A father does what he thinks is best. He has his reasons, and they don’t often make sense to anyone but him.” Henri gripped the doorknob. “Perhaps someday you’ll have the opportunity to find that out.” He hesitated, face yielding to a hint of emotion. “You can keep the pen.” And then he departed.

Zach’s spirit fell with the slam of the door. He sank into a chair and stared at the pen, the document, and the card. Yellow highlights indicated the places for him to sign. It was a blur to him though.

He didn’t want to be free. He didn’t deserve it.

Nevertheless, of its own volition, his left hand inched towards the pen. Towards the oncoming train.

Get on or get hit.

Either way. He was going to die.

The garage door opened behind her, and Carol beamed at the sound of her husband’s familiar gait. “Finally. I was starting to forget what you looked like,” she teased as he came up behind her at the kitchen sink.

Henri smirked but there was an absence of joy to his drawn features. “I didn’t forget what you looked like.” He slid his hands down her arms and shut the tap off for her. “I thought I told you not to wash dishes.”

She smiled deliciously as he enveloped her, kissing her neck. “You spoil me far too much.”

“You’re unspoilable.”

She turned in his arms and gazed at his handsome countenance. Fingering his jaw, she sponged his lips. “I feel as if you’ve been avoiding me.”

“On the contrary, darling. It’s you who have been avoiding me.” He grew suddenly serious. “You’re having an affair, aren’t you?”

Playing along, Carol gasped and her hand flew to her forehead. “Oh, no! How
ever
did you find out?”

“It’s all over your face.”

“Is it?” She touched her cheek. “Well, I
was
at the children’s cancer ward today. We were doing face painting.” She sparkled naughtily. “I was a leopard.”

Henri’s cleft chin deepened. “You’d make a very sexy leopard.” His hands found their comfort zone on her hips and rubbed slowly. “I could almost forgive you for your treachery.”

“It’s only my gynecologist,” she said.

“The man from Australia? Whose accent you quote unquote
adore
?” he replied with a smidgen of genuine jealousy.

“I don’t know about adore.” Smiling at his swelling chest, she said with delight, “I think you’re angry.”

“An astute statement.”

Desire blanketed her eyes. She touched his chin with her index finger. “We’d better make up then or you won’t be able to sleep.”

Henri smiled darkly, making gains towards her mouth. “You do know me so well.” He started unbuttoning her powder blue silk blouse, hungry.

She pulled his head down and kissed him passionately. His fingers dug into her hair, undoing her coiffeur, inspiring her with pleasure. “I hate Australians,” she whispered against his lips, heart pounding.

“There’s a penalty for perjury,” he growled.

“I wasn’t aware I was under oath.”

“You’re married to me, darling.” He slipped off her shirt. “You’re always under oath.”

She giggled but he swiftly stampeded her mirth with a love that spanned three decades and whisked her away to his private chambers.

In bed, Carol stretched out next to Henri, as brazen as when they’d first met. He reveled in her beauty, remembered the secrets she’d shared with him behind closed doors as they rustled the sheets. He kissed her tenderly, holding her voluptuous body as close as possible.

“What did you do today?” she asked as he nuzzled her neck and his stubble pleasurably grazed her satin skin. “You seem… distracted.” She combed her fingers through his black hair.

“This is distracted to you?”

She laughed. “I just – I can tell.” She took his face in her hands and made him look at her. “Is there nothing bothering you?”

Henri gazed into her warm brown eyes and drowned in her pools. “I was only… thinking about how much I miss you playing for me.”

Carol lost her glow and averted her gaze.

He took one of her hands and lay down on his back, examining her fingers, tracing her veins. “Does this hurt?”

“You know it does.”

Henri considered her cold answer. “Have you forgiven Shelley?”

Carol’s head whipped towards him, and her rose petal lips parted in anger. “She’s my daughter as much as yours, Henri.”

“I’m well aware.”

“It’s a ridiculous question.”

Henri kissed her hand uninhibited to diffuse her ire. She pulled away and turned onto her stomach, face staring at the French door windows letting in the night. She was a mask of white gold and moon glow.

He was ill-deterred by her petulant temper. Rising to his knees, he placed both hands on her back and began to massage her, thumbs connecting as they moved in circles along her spine.

“Remember the night we first met?” he said, tone dark and intimate. “I came to your room after the concert and–”

“Demanded to see me,” she retorted. “I should’ve let security throw you out.”

“But you invited me in.” His palms slowed, sliding against her skin. “And somehow your dress just fell off.”

She scoffed but a smile peeked. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I do,” he said gravely. She couldn’t see how pensive he was. Lowering his head, he let his mouth brush against her slender shoulder. “You stood by the window, commanded me to sit in a chair, and you took your Stradivarius and played for me. Every note drove me mad.”

“Really? You seemed quite calm.”

He breathed her fragrance lustfully. “That’s what you think. You were my siren.”

She softened and reached her hand back to stroke his cheek.

He captured her fingers and closed his eyes, fighting a breaking dam. “Do you have any regrets?” he asked huskily. “If you hadn’t married me–”

“If I hadn’t married you, I’d still be playing, is that what you want me to say?” She muttered under her breath in Spanish and flipped onto her back, forcing him to move. “
Mira,
if it weren’t for you, I would have no love.”

“You were eighteen. You had plenty of prospects.”

“I only wanted you.”

“How do you know that?” he asked with a hint of desperation. “How do you know you didn’t make the wrong decision?”

Carol half-laughed and took his face in her hands. “
Mi amor
, where is this coming from? I am happy with you. You are enough for me.”

“But your passion–”

“Henri, stop it. I know I can’t play. But that’s not your fault. We’ve been through this before. You don’t have to feel guilty.”

Henri shook his head. “If I’d just been home…”

“Yes, and if I had just been careful. We can go on about it forever, but what’s done is done so drop it please.” She cupped the back of his head and drew him close.

“But you’re still angry with her,” he said, breath mingling with hers.

“I’m not.”

“She wanted to be like you.”

“Yes, and you encouraged her to fly beyond her capability. Now, look, she can barely stand.”

“But she had your talent. I
wanted
her to be like you.”

Carol’s eyes flashed burgundy. “Another
siren
for your collection?”

Henri’s head raised, putting distance between them. His brows furrowed, anger surfacing. “I’m sorry, darling, but I just remembered something. You’ll have to excuse me.” He eased off her body, cold as dead cartilage, and her face turned ashen.

“They’ll be arresting you tomorrow,” Henri told Cervenka over the secure phone in his home office. Door shut, he sat behind his desk in shirt and trousers only. And at that, his buttons weren’t even done. “But I suggest you turn yourself in. I’ll be better able to negotiate your release during the bail process.”

“How did this happen, Henri? How did they find out?”

“You didn’t cover your bases well enough. Nor did you think to inform me about this one very crucial matter.”

“It happened well before we met,” Rybar returned, unruffled. “In truth, I forgot about it.”

“Like hell you did.” Henri flicked at his jawline. “Anyway, I’ve discussed it with the FBI. They’re going to keep everything under wraps, undisclosed to the public in hopes of giving Kazanov a false sense of security. During the preliminaries, I plan to bring up your cooperation with the NYPD.”

“Cooperation? I’m not sure Detective Ericson shares that view.”

“Regardless, your leads have led to the arrests of many key constituents of the Brother’s Circle. I can persuade the court to allow only the charges of citizenship fraud to be prosecuted and throw out all other crimes and misdemeanors providing your continued cooperation with authorities. As long as there are no more surprises, you should be fine.”

Rybar cleared his throat. “How is your daughter doing after last night?”

Henri suppressed a froth of temper and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I find out you had a hand in it–”

“If she were my own, I could not have protected her more.”

“You have no daughters, you can’t possibly make such a statement.”

“What makes you so sure?”

Henri scowled. “Where is Kazanov now?”

“And what would you do if you found him?” Rybar’s breath rattled the line. “Ivan is only the head of the problem. The body will live without him unless pierced in the heart.”

“I’m too tired to solve your riddles,” Henri grunted. “The FBI will be keeping the club open to maintain the illusion that everything is fine. They’ve asked Shelley to continue.”

“And how do you feel about that?” 

Henri swallowed with difficulty. “I’ll meet you at 1 Police Plaza in the morning.”

“NYPD? Not the FBI?”

“It will look better if you turn yourself in to Zach.”

“Killing two birds with one stone, eh?”

Sighing, Henri replied, “Three, actually… Good night.” Hanging up, he dropped his head into his hands, feeling like he had a thousand feet of water pushing down on him.

At length, he opened a locked drawer at the bottom of his desk and dug through important family documents – passports, copies of birth certificates, social security cards – until he came to a white envelope. Opening it, he carefully withdrew an 8x10 picture of a seven-year-old Shelley at the piano accompanying Carol poised with her long-gone Stradivarius. Absolutely perfect.

His eyes watered. He remembered the passionate euphony they’d created. His heart ached to hear them again, but that wouldn’t happen. Not without pain.

Returning the picture to its secret storage, he turned off the light and simply sat in the dark. Listening.

And that’s when he heard it. Faint choirs of angels.

She was standing by the window, naked, back to him, with another violin – one he’d bought her to replace her one true love. Shock hit him that she’d even found it. He’d hidden it to present to her at the right time. If she ever healed up. After all, she hadn’t even wanted to look at a violin much less touch one for a full year after the accident.

Henri stepped quietly, cautiously, so as not to scare her away. He took a silent seat as she fumbled her way through a few scalar runs, which he thought sounded like heaven despite knowing this was nothing compared to the virtuosic prowess she used to ooze. But after so long, just this was enough to renew his already-steadfast love. He was sure she could play again. Sure she could slowly work back up to the level of–

She cried out suddenly and dropped her bow.

His heart jumped into his throat, but he forced himself to stay seated.

Pitifully, she bent and picked up the bow, her hand closing on the beautifully-warped wood with obvious difficulty.

Her whimpers ripped at his soul, and he gripped the arms of the chair. She still had not noticed him. Standing up, she tried again, drawing the bow across the strings though he’d noticed she started to shake.

The notes were pure anger.

Soon, the fingers playing the fretboard lost their power, but stubbornly she continued. The strains turned sour and disjointed. Bitter.

She started to cry, and Henri could no longer keep his seat. He went to her. “Carol, stop.”

“No!”

“Carolina, you’re going to undo your progress.”

Still she played. Painful double stops, crying the whole while.

His teeth gnashed. “Give it to me!” he thundered and wrested the violin from her grasp.

The music stopped, and his siren screamed, clawing at him. “Just let me try again!”

“Not tonight.” He firmed his jaw and took the instrument, returning it to its hard case.

“The bow needs rosin–”

“I know, dear,” he said and applied the protective substance to the horsehairs before detuning the bow to relieve the stress.

She watched him, lashes wet, cheeks streaked with tears. “Thank you.”

He latched up the case and slid it under the bed, telling himself he would have to find a better hiding place for it after she went to sleep. Then, he took her in his arms. “You don’t have to play like Paginini.”

“Would you have loved me if I hadn’t?”

He frowned and glanced at her forearms. “Do they hurt?”

“They’re on fire.” She slipped her hands inside his shirt and kissed him, ardently. He tasted her salty regret.