The Trophy Wife (11 page)

“There's no way of telling,” she said.

He turned away from her, his arms suddenly flailing in bewilderment. “How could anyone think that I would … hurt Emily?” Then he wheeled back toward her, his eyes wide. “Sweet Jesus,
you
don't think that I have anything to do with this?”

“Of course not! I love you.” She stepped forward to embrace him, but he backed away.

“What if you didn't love me? Would you think that I could do something like this?”

“Don't be silly. All I meant was that you're in the middle of an investigation, and if someone were trying to discredit you …”

“No! That's not what you meant. You meant that I was probably a suspect. ‘Man kills his wife so he can marry his girlfriend.' That's what you were thinking, wasn't it?”

“Of course not,” Angela snapped back. But then she added, “Well, yes … in a way. What I meant was that if you stay here, that's how it might look to others. But I didn't mean that I was thinking that way. I know you too well to even imagine you doing anything so dreadful.”

He leaned against the refrigerator. “You're right. What a damn idiot I've been. I'm a married man, in love with another woman. She won't give me a divorce, at least not without a messy scandal. So I … oh, Jesus, people could think that, couldn't they? The police could think I'd want to get rid of her.” He seemed about to sink in despair. But he suddenly shouted, “Andrew Hogan! I'll bet that's what he's thinking right now.”

She moved squarely in front of him, her hands hard on his
shoulders. “Don't do this to yourself. No one is accusing you. No one suspects you. I was just trying to protect you. To keep the wags from talking.”

Walter took her hands in his and held onto them as if they were a lifeline. “I can't be alone tonight,” he said. “I'll go crazy, Angela.”

She led him into her bedroom, expecting to comfort and console him. But in her arms, he came alive, his passion becoming almost frantic. They rolled over each other for nearly an hour, knotting themselves in the bedclothes, so that when they finished their lovemaking, they couldn't work themselves apart. Walter seemed to forget his problems and laughed at the situation they had gotten themselves into.

“If you can lift your shoulder, I think I can pull the blanket free,” she said.

“It's tied up in the sheet. You have to roll toward me so I can get the sheet free.”

But once they were lying separately, his morose mood returned. “I must be a real bastard,” he berated himself. “How could I do this? I'm laughing with joy at being with you. And Emily might be locked in some goddamned closet. She might be starving. Jesus, she could already be dead.”

Angela sat bolt upright. “Don't put us together with what happened to Emily. We both betrayed her the first time we got into bed together. We knew what we were doing. We knew it was wrong. What's happened to her doesn't make us any worse than we already are.”

He was nodding. “I know, I know. But it feels worse. I should be experiencing some terrible pain. But I don't feel any pain when I'm with you. I guess I feel guilty that I'm not torn apart by her disappearance. I'm not sure that I want her to come back and that's god-awful. That's really despicable!”

“You want her to come back,” Angela said, “and you'll do everything in your power to get her back. I don't care what it costs you and I particularly don't care what it costs the bank. We both have to know that she's home and safe. Then we'll both go to her and tell her about us. That's the
only way we can get on with our lives. Otherwise, every time we're together, you'll be feeling guilty. Whenever you look at me, you'll be wondering what happened to her.”

“You're right,” Walter decided. “I've got to keep the two things separate. Our love has nothing to do with her being kidnapped.”

Angela went on. “There's got to be closure on your marriage to Emily before there can be any marriage with me. You see that, don't you?”

“Of course. I didn't mean that I didn't want her back. I was only saying that I must be some sort of unfeeling bastard to be able to laugh when she could be …” He choked, unable to finish the thought.

Angela leaned down and kissed him gently on the cheek. “Don't torture yourself thinking about what might be happening. Just do whatever it takes to bring her back safely.”

It was nearly nine o'clock when Walter thought about leaving. His car was in the parking garage across the street where he had left it early that morning and he could be home in Short Hills by eleven. But why? There was nothing for him there. It would make much more sense for him to call a local hotel, get some sleep, and be in his office early in case anything developed.

“A hotel?” Angela shook her head in despair. “Why don't you just stay here. I'll get up early so that I can fix you some breakfast.”

“Like you said,” Walter answered. “Staying might not be the best idea. Someone might ask …”

“You've already stayed. It's not going to look any better if you leave at ten than if you leave at five in the morning. Either way, you're going to be telling someone about us.”

He wavered, wanting desperately to hold on to her through the long night, but afraid to appear so completely unconcerned at his wife's disappearance.

When he left her building, Walter went straight across the street to the garage. It would raise fewer questions, he thought, if the car were parked closer to the bank. He had decided to sleep on the couch in his office, close to his business
phone. It would look better if it were obvious that he had kept an all-night vigil. And he had a change of clothes in his locker at the fitness center.

When he pulled out of the garage, he nearly hit the rental car that was parked across from Angela's. He glanced apologetically at Helen Restivo, who was sitting behind the wheel.

W
ALTER PACED IN HIS
office for nearly an hour before Andrew Hogan appeared in the doorway. The security officer looked composed and well rested in contrast to the nearly frantic anxiety that Walter exhibited.

“Where have you been?” Walter demanded. He realized that he sounded as if he were dressing down an underling, so he softened his question. “Have you heard anything? I've been going crazy wondering what was going on.”

Hogan answered as he eased into a side chair. “Well, let's see. We've covered your house. Looks like it happened pretty much the way you guessed. But we know that Emily wasn't injured. She was drugged and taken out in the shower curtain. There's every reason to believe that whoever set this up wanted to make damn sure that Emily remained alive.”

“Thank God …” Childs collapsed into his chair as if a heavy burden he had been struggling with had finally been lifted. But after a fraction of a second at peace, the anxiety reappeared in his eyes. “But will she be safe?”

“I think so. Unless somebody screws up. From what you said about the messenger and what we saw in your house, we think that these are rank amateurs. They probably don't want to hurt anyone. But, on the other hand, they'll probably spook easily. Quite honestly, there's no telling what they'll do.”

Walter told him about seeing Mitchell Price in the restaurant and launched into the litany of his suspicions. “You think he'd be capable of planning a kidnapping?” Hogan wondered out loud. “He seems pretty much of a straight shooter.”

“He'd have help,” Walter suggested. “Mitchell Price would never get his hands dirty. But is he capable of setting the whole thing up? Would he have the stomach for it? You're damn right he would. He'd kill his mother if he thought it was going to get him moved into the big office.” Hogan listened
to Walter's analysis, shaking his head at the details. It wasn't just the mindless ambition being attributed to Price. Hogan realized that Walter clearly understood his rival's ambition because it perfectly matched his own. The key to the big office had become the center of both men's lives. He listened, nodded, and made a few notes. Then he leaned forward confidentially and told Walter that Price, like all the other senior executives, had been put under surveillance the previous day. “We didn't start following him until he got back from lunch,” Andrew monotoned as he read the information from his notes. “We had a tail on him last night, but all he did was stay home. We're also bugging his private line, but there have been no significant phone calls, either in or out.”

Walter's face fall into the palm of his hand. “Then you really have nothing?”

“Oh, I wouldn't say that. We've picked up a few significant items.”

Walter's face reappeared.

“We've identified the messenger. His fingerprints were on everything. He's a down-and-out lawyer doing public defense work in Newark. He lives near you, but he won't be there much longer. The bank is foreclosing on him.”

“What did he tell you?”

“Nothing, yet. But we have his phone tapped and we have a guy following him. Maybe he'll try to contact someone or someone might try to contact him. We'll wait until later in the day to sit him down and ask him some questions. But we tend to believe your evaluation of him and there probably won't be a great deal he can tell us.

“We also found several sets of prints around the shower,' Hogan continued. “Emily's and yours, of course, but also several others that, judging by their size, appear to be men's fingerprints. You haven't had a plumber in lately, have you?”

“No … not that I know of. No, I'm sure. I would have seen the bill.”

“We're running the prints now. We'll let you know the moment we come up with something.”

Walter started to rise. “I can't tell you how grateful I am …”

“I'm not finished,” Hogan said. He waited while Walter sat back down. “If you're really grateful, then do me a favor and tell me everything you know that might bear on Emily's kidnapping. Like, for example, how long you have been seeing Angela Hilliard?”

“Angela?” Walter's eyes went out of focus. He stuttered a few defensive sounds.

“She was the first one you called after you learned that Emily was missing. And then you went to her apartment last night, as soon as you left the office. So you're seeing her, aren't you?”

The best Walter could manage was a slight dip of his chin.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“Because Angela … my, eh … relationship with her has nothing to do …” He raised his hands hopelessly. “I wanted to keep her out of it, I suppose.”

“Not a smart decision,” Hogan told him. “A married man having an affair. His wife with a claim to everything he owns. And then the wife gets kidnapped by someone who knows your job as well as you do.”

Walter remembered what he had suddenly announced to Angela. “You think I did this!”

Hogan waved at him. “Take it easy. I don't think anything. But I should tell you that as far as my investigators are concerned, you've become the number one suspect.” He waited while Childs turned away in embarrassment and shuffled to the window. Then he asked, “You want to guess who their second favorite suspect is?”

Walter's face was showing his fear. “You can't mean …”

“I'll know better once I've been through her place.” He held out his hand. “I assume you have a key.”

“Dammit, no! Leave her out of this. She couldn't do such a thing.” Walter was nearly screaming, his voice cracking with emotion.

Hogan remained calm. “The fact is, she
could
do it. She knows your job very well. There's every chance you've told
her more about Emily's habits than you ought to. And she certainly has a motive.”

Walter was sputtering. “But, she wouldn't know how … where would she find the people … how could she … ?”

“That is why I'd like to see her apartment,” Hogan answered.

Walter stared helplessly for a moment. Then he went to his desk, took out a ring of office keys, and snapped Angela's key off the ring. He couldn't bare to hand it over to Hogan, so he simply tossed it on the desk.

“I think she has a security alarm,” Hogan said

Walter went to his wallet and produced a business card with a security PIN number written on the back. He copied it on a phone memo pad and pushed it in Andrew's direction.

“What about a safe?” the security officer asked.

“No. I told her to get one, but she doesn't think she needs one. She has a hiding place for her jewelry and a few very personal things.”

“And where might that be?”

Walter was showing his irritation. “In her closet. The floor molding pulls away and there's a space behind it between the wall and the floor. But, I'm telling you, you're wasting your time. You won't find anything.

Hogan took the key and glanced at the security code. “I'd have thought you'd be hoping that I'd find a lead to Emily,” he answered.

Helen Restivo used the key to open Angela's apartment door. She went immediately to the alarm, and tapped in the PIN. Then she took a deep breath and let her eyes roam freely.

The apartment was spacious and tastefully furnished, the decor relaxed rather than impressive. It seemed to be the way the woman wanted to live, rather than the way she wanted her lifestyle to appear. The living room had a small sitting area of the typical sofa and soft chairs surrounding a coffee table. There was a small television on a TV stand, with a remote resting on one of the sofa arms. The longest wall was covered with standing bookshelves, interrupted by a built-in
desk that held a personal computer. Most of the books seemed to be business reference volumes and the shelves to the immediate right of the PC were stacked with CDs and floppy disks. The telephone, at the back of the desk, accessed multiple lines and the facsimile and scanner were office quality.