The Fregoli Delusion (14 page)

Anna was now covering Hank’s university
years, in which he’d completed a bachelor’s degree and a master’s in the
criminology and criminal justice program she’d had a hand in developing as a
member of State’s board of trustees.

“Then after he finished his law
degree and passed the bar exam—as a twenty-two-year-old, I might add—he worked
for a year as an ASA under Will Ingletz.” She looked up as Mary Strong Ferguson
and her husband Jack took their seats across the table. “I was retired by
then.”

Meredith looked at Hank. “But how
did you go from that to becoming a policeman?”

Hank said, “It’s a long story.”

Anna leaned over and touched Meredith
on the forearm. “I didn’t agree with the decision at all, at the time. I’m
afraid we argued rather bitterly about it. It’s the only time I ever remember
us disagreeing. It took me quite a long time to understand, which is a
reflection on me and not him, but Hank has proven his point rather well, I’d
say, over the course of his career.”

“He’s a very good detective,”
Meredith said.

“He’s the best investigator the
department’s ever seen,” Anna replied firmly.

“You looked good on television
yesterday morning,” Mary Strong Ferguson said, scooting her chair forward.
“Much better than your chief in the afternoon, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks,” Hank said.

“You’ve certainly got your work
cut out for you,” Jack Ferguson offered. “Any suspects yet?”

“We’re working very hard, believe
me.”

“Mary,” Roberts interjected,
leaning across the table, “when’s that damned football team of yours going to
start winning games?”

“It’s a tough division,” Mary
replied, “and we can’t offer as many scholarships as some of the larger
schools.”

“Sounds like an excuse to me.”

“Not at all, merely an
explanation.”

Hank caught Meredith’s eye. She
leaned back in her seat and smiled a knowing, familiar smile that surprised him
a little.

“When are we going to eat?” Anna
chirped. “I’m starved.”

15

After dinner Anna excused herself
to step outside with Roberts for her usual post-prandial cigar. It was her way
of avoiding the speeches and the presentations of oversized novelty checks
orchestrated by Constance Mercer Parris and her chief aide, Theona Sherman, the
administrator of Mercer House.

Mrs. Sherman spoke movingly about
some of the people who had been helped by their programs. Mayor Watts offered a
ringing endorsement of the foundation’s work in helping people off the streets
and into better living arrangements where they received the assistance they
needed. Coach Keating pledged not only to continue his participation in special
events at Mercer House but also to ensure that the Ravens would make a deeper
run into the playoffs this upcoming year. The crowd applauded this last
pronouncement with great enthusiasm. Constance then reclaimed the podium to
urge everyone to participate in the silent auction that would soon be underway
upstairs, in the loft.

“Included this year,” Constance
said, reading from her notes, “are a pair of Ravens seasons tickets”
(applause), “a vintage Orioles jersey autographed by Cal Ripken Jr.” (more
applause), “a selection of paintings and prints by Maryland artists” (belated,
light applause), “and a selection of first edition books generously donated by
one of our private sponsors, including, in keeping with tonight’s theme,” she
held her notes a little closer, “a first edition of the collected writings of
Thomas Paine, published in 1792, which I’m told is worth seven thousand
dollars” (applause), “and the first edition of Washington Irving’s
Rip Van
Winkle
that was illustrated by American artist N.C. Wyeth, appraised at
nine hundred dollars” (faint applause, led by Hank).

“Please take advantage as well of
the opportunity to view the special collection that the gallery’s made
available to us tonight. Our theme for this evening, as I mentioned before, is
early Americana, in honor of the collection which includes, I’m told, a Gilbert
Stuart and a John Trumbull. In addition, we have some graduate students with us
from the department of American History at State who’ll be circulating among us
during the mingler which, you’ll be relieved to hear, begins shortly. These
students will be immediately recognizable, since they’re dressed in period
clothing and are portraying famous early Americans including Alexander Hamilton
and Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, George and Martha Washington, and James and
Dolly Madison. Please feel free to engage them in conversation. They’ll answer
any questions you might have, within reason of course” (laughter) “about the
characters they’re playing tonight. I hope you enjoy it.”

Hank and Meredith joined the
stream of people heading upstairs.

“This is fun,” she whispered in
his ear as they stood in line to view the items up for bid in the silent
auction.

A volunteer stood behind the table
on which the books were displayed. He looked young enough to be a college
student. “Anything in particular catch your eye?” he asked Hank.

“The Irving.”

The young man wore white gloves.
He carefully picked up the copy of
Rip Van Winkle
from the pedestal on
which it was displayed and held it toward Hank, carefully turning the pages so
he could see them. He stopped at one of the color plates.

“It’s beautiful,” Hank said, admiring
the illustration. He glanced at the bidding sheet and saw that no one else had
registered a bid. He picked up the pen and wrote down his name, cell phone
number, and a bid of a thousand dollars.

“Are you sure you’re a cop?”
Meredith kidded him as they strolled away.

“Very sure,” Hank said.

He fetched them drinks from the
bar, a White Russian for Meredith and another Maker’s Mark on the rocks for
himself, and they mingled for a few minutes until Hank found himself standing
next to Mary Strong Ferguson.

“I apologize for Jack if he put
you on the spot,” she said, sipping what Hank feared was a Grasshopper.

“Not a problem. You’re on the
Jarrett board; how’s everyone holding up?”

“I’ll be over here if you’re
looking for me,” Meredith said to Hank, pointing in a random direction.

“Fairly well,” Mary responded as
Meredith slipped away. “Considering how much work we’ve got ahead of us. The
press conference yesterday went as well as could be expected. At least our
stock price has leveled off. It was scary for a while, there.”

“There were some big changes
coming,” Hank said, moving a little closer to her. “Jarrett was going to divest
himself of his stake in the company, resign as CEO, and move to the Caribbean.
How was everybody taking that news?”

Mary shrugged. “Some people were
ready to jump off the roof, but others could see the logic behind it. You’re
aware he was going to sell to his daughter? The plan was for her to take over
as president and CEO.”

Hank nodded.

“I was prepared to support it,”
Mary said. “H.J. was starting to show his age, I’m afraid. He wasn’t as
aggressive or as sharp. He didn’t always have a complete grasp of the details.
Things he would have fired other people for in a heartbeat, and there he was,
guilty of them himself.”

“How well do you know his
daughter?”

“Diane? Fairly well, I suppose.
She’s her father’s daughter, I’ll say that. She’s got a head for business, a
grasp of the numbers, and the moxie to make the hard choices. Actually, she’s
here tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Mary looked around. “Well,
I don’t see her, but I was talking to her before dinner. Maybe you can have a
word with her.”

Hank sampled his drink. “Anyone in
particular upset because of the coming changes?”

“You mean someone upset enough to
shoot him in the head? I hope I never meet anyone that insane in my lifetime.”
She frowned. “No, I can’t say as I felt anyone was more upset than the
situation warranted. Everyone on the board understands that change is a given
in business, no matter how hard you try to build in stability and continuity. Succession
plans are a must. I haven’t the faintest idea who might have shot him.” She put
a hand on her hip. “Anyway, weren’t you thinking it was a mugging? Some random
person who took his money and ran away?”

“It’s a theory.”

“Well,” she said, patting his arm,
“good luck with it.”

Hank turned around and found
himself face to face with Walter Parris.

“I just want to give you fair
warning,” Parris said abruptly. “I’ve spoken to your chief about that
detective, Stainer. She was at the house this afternoon and upset everyone. I
won’t have her coming around using foul language and crashing around like a
bull in a china shop. I won’t put up with it.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hank
said. He’d listened to Karen’s voice message, in which she’d told him about her
interview with Dr. Caldwell and her intention to follow up with Brett and the
nurse, Mona Jensen. He hadn’t called her back because he hadn’t thought it
necessary. “I wish you’d talked to me first, Mr. Parris, before calling Chief
Bennett. Detective Stainer’s a first-rate investigator. I’m sorry if she upset
you, but she’s just doing her job.”

“I’m not an idiot, Donaghue. It’s
the
way
she does her job I take issue with, and that’s what I told your
chief. He said he wasn’t going to remove her from the case without talking to
you first, so you may have a chance to save her skin, but I’m giving you fair
warning. I don’t want her at the house again, and I don’t want her around
Brett, Mona, Dr. Caldwell, or anyone else connected to Brett. Am I making myself
clear?”

“Your concern’s noted,” Hank
replied acidly, “but I don’t appreciate you making telephone calls over my
head, and no
civilian
tells me how to run a police investigation. Am I
making
myself
clear?”

Walter reddened. “There’s no need
to speak to me that way. I—”

Hank moved close, encroaching on
his personal space. “Keep your nose clean and your hands where I can see them
at all times. Don’t give me a reason to look at you any more closely than I
have so far. This is a homicide investigation, not a company picnic. I don’t
give a damn whose feelings get hurt or whose sensibilities are offended. Police
business will be conducted as
I
see fit, not according to your
preferences.”

Walter spun on his heel and walked
away.

As he watched Walter disappear in
the direction of the bar, Hank pulled at his drink and took a few deep breaths
to lower his blood pressure.

He heard his name called from
behind him. He turned to look at a lovely Asian woman in a long turquoise
evening gown.

“Are you Lieutenant Donaghue?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Emily Ong.” She held out her
hand. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Hank replied,
switching his drink to shake her hand.

She grinned at him. “I’m Peter
Mah’s sister. You’re famous in our family, Lieutenant. You saved our little
baby brother.”

Hank put his hand in his pocket.
“Your brother has a nose for trouble.”

“I know. Boys will be boys. Can
you talk to my father for a minute?”

“Your father?”

“Yes, he’s just over there.” She
motioned in the direction of the silent auction tables. “He’d really like to
have a few minutes of your time, if you could.”

He’d spoken to Jerome Mah once
before, several years ago, at a similar public function. “All right.” Hank
drained his glass and put it on the tray of a passing waiter. “Let’s go.”

He followed the turquoise evening
gown through the crowd until he was standing next to Jerome Mah at the book
table. The multi-millionaire importer gave him a broad smile and shook his hand
with a quick, soft grip. He resembled a stout little penguin in his flawless
tuxedo, white shirt, black cummerbund, and black bow tie. Even his thick hair
was a mélange of black and white. He showed Hank a set of crooked teeth and
nodded toward the table.

“I see the Irving caught your eye,
Lieutenant Donaghue.”

“Yes, it’s great.”

“I found that in a tiny used book
store in Concord about twenty years ago. My late wife and I were driving
through and we stopped for lunch. It cost me only ten dollars, if you can
believe it.”

Hank frowned. “You donated these
books?”

“I have quite an extensive
collection. I heard you shared this interest and I was hoping one of them might
catch your attention.”

“Someone will probably outbid me.”

“I doubt it very much. You’re very
generous.” Mah gestured. “Can we step aside for a moment?”

“I should really see if my mother
needs anything,” Hank said, turning away.

Mah blinked at the rudeness.
“Really, Lieutenant Donaghue, there’s no need to be concerned. Words cannot
possibly express how I feel, but I’d like to try, at least.”

Hank hesitated.

Mah gestured toward an open space
along the railing that overlooked the atrium. “Please.”

“All right.”

“Emily,” Mah said, looking at his
daughter.

“A pleasure to have met you,
Lieutenant!” She held out her hand again, her head tilted to one side.

Hank sighed inwardly. This family
wouldn’t quit. He smiled despite himself and shook her hand. He followed Mah
away from the auction tables. On their way they passed the bar, and Mah made a
sudden detour. “Let me get you something, first.”

“I'm fine, thanks.”

“You'll like this.” Mah pointed
and the bartender poured two fingers of amber liquid into two small glasses and
left them on the bar in front of Mah, who gestured to Hank to join him.

“I know you're a bourbon
enthusiast, but if you haven't tried this before you really should.” Mah smiled
at him. “It’s a single malt whisky from The Glenrothes distillery in the
Speyside district of Scotland. You notice he served it neat in tulip glasses
rather than in tumblers, on the rocks. The narrow opening of the tulip glass
lets us nose it, just like you would a fine wine.” As Hank watched, Mah placed
two fingers on the base of the glass and swirled it around briskly on the bar,
then picked it up by the stem and waved it delicately below his nose. He
glanced at Hank. “Go ahead, try it.”

Suppressing a sigh, Hank followed
Mah's example.

“What do you smell?” Mah asked.

“I don't know. Alcohol.
Butterscotch. Vanilla. Something like that.”

“Excellent. Exactly. This
particular vintage was matured in bourbon casks made of American oak, which
lends very distinctive notes of butterscotch, coconut, and vanilla. Now taste
it.”

Mah sipped it carefully. Hank
followed suit, and raised his eyebrows. “It's good.”

“Of course it is. Of all the
expressions produced by The Glenrothes, this is my favorite. I'd send you a
case, but I'm afraid your people in Internal Affairs would jump to the wrong
conclusions, so the best I can do is urge you to try it yourself.” He moved
away from the bar. “Bring it over here.”