Do Not Disturb (74 page)

“Please.” Holding up her hand, Tina did her best to look harassed and perhaps just a touch little-girl-lost. “One at a time, OK? Don’t crowd me.”

“Why didn’t you go straight to the police?” A pretty Asian TV reporter from one of the local news shows forced her way to the front. “If you had proof of criminal activity, why’d you wait?”

“To be honest with you, I’m just the front woman here,” said Tina. “You’ll have to ask my sister about that sort of stuff.”

“Honor’s behind this?” The Asian girl swooped on this new information like a hawk diving for a shrew.

“Well, no, I wouldn’t say behind it exactly.” Tina sounded uncertain.

“Where is she right now? Is she here tonight?”

At that moment Saskia came careening through the lines of press like a furious pink cannonball and hurled herself at Tina, knocking her to the ground.

“You bitch!” Climbing on top of her, she clawed at her face and neck like a savage, much to the delight of the TV crews. Her heavy mascara was running in thick black rivulets down her face, and her
fuchsia lipstick was smudged everywhere, making her look like a psychotic clown. For a moment Tina was genuinely frightened.

“Do you know how much effort went into this party?” Saskia shrieked. “Do you know how hard I worked?”

As she raised her arm for another blow, Tina closed her eyes and flinched. But instead of the expected sting of talons ripping into her cheek, she felt a weight being lifted off her.

“Take her inside.” Petra’s voice sounded as ice-cool and imperious as ever. “She’s hysterical.” The only hint that the crisis was affecting her at all was that her Russian accent had become slightly more pronounced. “And help Miss Palmer to a chair, please.”

Opening her eyes to see two burly and by no means unattractive security guards looming over her, Tina decided not to put up a struggle. Though it pained her to yield the limelight, she was feeling a little shaken. Honor never mentioned anything this afternoon about the risk of being assaulted by fat British lunatics.

With Tina temporarily out of action, the reporters lost no time in cornering Petra instead.

“Ms. Kamalski, I take it tonight’s allegations against your employer have come as a complete surprise to you?”

“I’ll be making a full statement later, once I’ve had a chance to speak with Mr. Tisch,” said Petra calmly. “Right now, you’ll understand, I have over a thousand guests I need to deal with. I really don’t have the time for questions.”

“But you must have been shocked by these revelations, the abuse of young girls, the terrible lives and deaths of those poor children…”

Petra gave a magnificently dismissive wave of the hand. “None of which has anything to do with Mr. Tisch. To be honest with you, I’m not surprised to hear that Honor Palmer orchestrated this entire debacle. Clearly she and Lucas Ruiz dreamed this up together as some twisted form of industrial sabotage.”

“A little extreme, don’t you think?” A paunchy print journalist from the
LA Times
looked at Petra skeptically. “To make up a pack of lies that elaborate? Why would they do that?”

“Because the Herrick is number one, of course,” said Petra scathingly. “We’re the best in the world, while their respective hotels are foundering.”

“But according to Ms. Doyle…” the reporter pressed on bravely.

“Miss
Doyle
?” said Petra sharply, her paper-thin facade of politeness beginning to crack. “Sian Doyle is a money-grubbing former waitress, nothing more. The police are on their way here as we speak, and when they arrive, they will arrest her. She is not to be taken seriously.”

“What about the girls’ evidence?” the Asian girl piped up again. “Or Tina Palmer’s accusations? You can’t dismiss all of them out of hand, surely?”

“A few teenage hookers and a porn star with an ax to grind?” Petra snorted in derision. “I most certainly can dismiss them. This is nonsense. What Mr. Tisch decides to do about these libelous and, quite frankly, ridiculous accusations is a matter for him. My priority right now is to ensure that the people responsible for destroying tonight’s celebrations are brought to justice. Aha!” She looked up gleefully. “Here come the police now.”

A troop of uniformed officers, eight or nine of them, pulled up in front of the hotel and began spreading out in various directions. Two made straight for Petra, who greeted them with a brusque, professional smile.

“Thank goodness you’re here,” she began. “The girl, Doyle, is in our summerhouse in the care of my security. If you follow me, I’ll take you there. But it’s clear she wasn’t acting alone. Lucas Ruiz and Honor Palmer were both here earlier, although I suspect they may have taken off by now. I—”

“Actually, Ms. Kamalski, it’s you we need to talk to.” The older, more senior officer laid a hand on her shoulder. “I need to bring you downtown for questioning. If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t possibly leave the hotel,” said Petra, with a look that left the word “moron” hanging in the air. “Whatever you need to ask me, you can do it while we walk. But I want these people off hotel property.”

The senior cop gave a nod to his colleague. Before she even had time to register what was happening, Petra found herself being handcuffed and escorted toward the podium steps.

“We could have done this the easy way, you know,” said the officer, shielding his eyes from a sudden barrage of camera flashes. “This is your choice, lady. Petra Kamalski, I’m arresting you on suspicion of instigating an arson attack on Palmers hotel. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say—”

“This is ridiculous.” Petra’s voice was shaking. “I had nothing to do with that fire. You can’t possibly link me to it.”

“On the contrary, ma’am, we have some very strong links, courtesy of your friend Miss Doyle, and two solid witnesses who say they saw you entering the hotel kitchens that morning.”

“Anton!” Catching sight of him across the garden as she was dragged down the steps, Petra called out in panic. It had been so long since the fire, and the police had drawn such a total and consistent blank, she’d long ago started thinking she was home free. How on earth had Sian found witnesses? But she’d done it for Anton, for both of them. He’d see that, surely? He’d help her.

Having gone AWOL for the last twenty minutes, Anton had suddenly popped up arm in arm with a scowling, obese man in a suit, whom Petra recognized instantly as his lawyer, Bob Singer. Swarms of people were pressed around them on all sides, but they, too, were flanked by cops and being ushered politely but firmly in the direction of the waiting squad cars.

“Anton!” As they got closer, she shouted again. “Darling!”

Glancing up, he caught her eye. He had never seen fear on her face before—never seen any kind of weakness, in fact. It unnerved him so much, he dropped his gaze. Moments later he was bundled into the back of a squad car with Bob.

On his attorney’s advice, Anton hadn’t uttered a single syllable to either reporters or the police. To be honest, he hadn’t needed the advice. He had no idea what to say and was still in a state of stupefied shock, wondering if this was some sort of nightmare from which he would imminently wake. He also knew that in the long run, the US police were likely to be the least of his worries. Even if, by some miracle, Bob could talk him out of these charges, Aliyev was not a man known for his mercy toward his enemies. Anton had taken what he could from his government in the early years, and for a while had been happy to take his money and run. But seeing so many of his former Russian buddies surge past him in the wealth stakes these past few years, greed had gotten the better of him and he’d decided to get back in, switching allegiance to the rebels, who for a while had looked set to seize control of the pipelines in Azerbaijan’s east. Supplying arms was the easiest and cheapest way to buy himself a slice of that pie. What did he care if a few young boys took a bullet along the way? They were born into lives of such unutterable misery anyway, it hardly seemed to matter.

Through the windshield, he saw Sian being ushered into the car in front of them. She wasn’t handcuffed, as Petra had been—and what was that about? Petra had nothing to do with any of this—but she did appear to be under arrest. Nevertheless, Sian looked not just relaxed but happy. When her sixth sense kicked in and she caught him staring, she flashed him a grin that he could only interpret as one of triumph.

Whatever happened to him now, that girl would have made her name in the tawdry world of investigative journalism and, he imagined, her fortune too. He didn’t think he’d ever hated another human being quite so much. Why hadn’t she come to
him with what she knew? He’d have paid her fifty times whatever she’d been offered for her story. They could both have been rich, safe, and free.

“Do you know her?” asked Bob, catching the exchange of looks. Anton shook his head. “No. I never laid eyes on her before tonight. Although she sure as hell seems to know me.”

“Quiet,” ordered Bob, nodding at the cops in the front seat. “No she doesn’t. She’s a fantasist, got it? Let me do the talking.”

Hidden in the shadows of one of the Herrick’s perfectly clipped yew hedges, Honor watched as the cars containing Anton and Sian sped away, followed by a clamoring press pack. With Tina there to work the crowds and the media, she had been able to hang back and focus on making sure the plan ran smoothly behind the scenes. Which it had, until Sian had been arrested. That was most definitely not supposed to happen.

“Hey.”

Honor jumped like she’d just been jabbed with a cattle prod. Lucas had crept up behind her and, wrapping both arms around her waist, begun dragging her farther back into the shadow.

“Let go of me!” she said crossly, wriggling free.

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear, clapping a hand across her mouth. “Someone will hear you. You don’t want the press on your case, do you?”

Honor shivered. It was late and getting cold, and all this standing still was making it worse. Plus Lucas’s warm breath on her neck tickled.

“You’ve got goose bumps,” he said, staring at the upright hairs on her forearms. “Am I making you nervous?”

Honor looked at him witheringly. “No,” she said. “I’m cold. And I’m worried about Sian. Did you see the cops take her away just now?”

He nodded.

“I think they arrested her,” said Honor. “Why would they do that? We have to get down to the station, right now. We have to straighten this out.”

She made a move to go, but Lucas grabbed her arm.

“No,” he said firmly. “Trust me. Whatever it is, Sian can take care of herself. She knew what she was getting into.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” said Honor indignantly. What a classically selfish, Lucas response. “We can’t just abandon the poor girl!”

Just then, the gaggle of media parted like the Red Sea and an ashen, handcuffed Petra was shoved unceremoniously into a third waiting police car.

“Oh my God.” Honor turned back to Lucas. “Petra too? This is ridiculous. What’s going on?”

Lucas shrugged and gave her an innocent “beats me” look. But Honor wasn’t buying it.

“What don’t I know?” she asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. “What haven’t you told me?”

Lucas took a deep breath. Now was probably as good a time as any. “Come with me,” he whispered. “We need to talk.”

Y
OU CAN
’
T DO
this to me!” yelled Sian at the top of her lungs. “I’m a reporter! Whatever happened to freedom of the press? And where the hell is
he
going?”

Anton, still glued to his attorney like a barnacle to a rock, was being escorted across the lobby and out the back door of the East Hampton station. His brows were corrugated in concentration, and he seemed not to notice the racket coming from the holding cell behind him, or Sian’s furious little face glaring at him through the wooden porthole.

“He’s going to New York,” said the duty sergeant patiently. “Thanks to you he has a date with the FBI. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“What I
want
,” said Sian, “is the key to this door. Or failing that, an attorney, a phone, and something to eat. A Big Mac’d be nice.” It was hard to be taken seriously while wearing a semipornographical French maid’s outfit, but she did her best to sound like she meant business. “And I’d like a copy of the early edition of the
News of the World
.”

“News of the
what
?” The sergeant looked blank. “Listen, kiddo, you’ll be outta here just as soon as one of your rich buddies shows up with your bail money.”

The East Hampton police station had a retro
Leave It to Beaver
ambience that, under other circumstances, Sian might have found endearingly quaint. The lobby looked like it hadn’t been touched since the fifties, all heavy wooden fixtures and fittings, with a polished brass handbell on the desk for attracting the duty officer’s attention. But appearances could be deceptive. It might look like the kind of place where the worst that ever happened was some old lady’s cat getting stuck up a tree or a bunch of kids getting a little overenthusiastic with the trick or treating at Halloween. In fact, in the last two years alone, three local murders had made the national news, not to mention a Mafia money-laundering operation that had seen two brothers from Bridgehampton arrested and sent down for consecutive life sentences. Anton Tisch was hardly the first big fish to pass through these musty old halls, nor, she imagined, would he be the last. The sergeant returned to his Sudoku puzzle, and Sian skulked over to the chair at the back of her cell. This was so annoying!