I'll Be Watching You Part 28

"What you don't know is how deep Adrienne's hatred ran. It festered over the years, especially when she never managed to give Douglas a child of her own. She was obsessed with Gordon and me. Especially Gordon. He was the bad boy of the two of us, the wild one, the challenge. When he was a kid, those traits p.i.s.sed her off. When he was a teenager, they turned her on."

Reed went very still. "Are you telling me there was a s.e.xual relations.h.i.+p?"

"Hey, haven't you ever seen The Graduate? The difference was, Gordon was only fifteen. And, much as he wanted to get laid, he didn't want it from Adrienne. He turned her down. She gave him an incentive to change his mind. That's what I have on tape."

"What incentive?"

"She threatened to plant something valuable in our mother's room-- like one of the numerous extravagant pieces of jewelry Douglas bought her--then accuse our mother of theft. She'd fire her and have her arrested. If the accusation became a conviction--great--our mother would rot in jail. If not, Adrienne promised to make sure she never worked for another well-to-do family again. End of income. End of everything. As for us, who knows? Adrienne would have used all her wiles to convince Douglas to toss us out in the streets. She might very well have succeeded. After all, he hadn't acknowledged us. We had no official place in his life. Our mother was really all we had. We were just kids. So, Gordon became Adrienne's unwilling s.e.x slave."

Reed grimaced. "You knew?"

"Not then, I didn't. Not for a couple of years. I found out by accident. One night I needed some air. I jumped in the car and drove out to Douglas's yacht club. I strolled down to the dock where he kept his yacht. I overheard Gordon and Adrienne, going at it like rabid animals. I threw up. Then I went back to the house. When Gordon came home, I confronted him. He told me what the situation was. Frankly, I didn't believe him. He wasn't exactly the helpless-victim type, or a decent, devoted son. True, he was trying to save his own a.s.s as well as our mother's, but I still figured he was getting a real charge out of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his father's wife. That would be right in character. But when he gave me that tape, I knew he wasn't lying." Jonathan's lips curled in a bitter smile. "I'll make you a copy. You can hear for yourself."

Reed blew out his breath. "The woman was more dangerous than I realized, and a s.e.xual predator to boot. Did your mother ever know?"

"Thank heavens, no. She died blissfully ignorant of the whole sordid arrangement, while we were in college."

"Yeah. Cancer. That much I remember." Reed ran a palm over his jaw. "The problem is, these facts don't help your case. They hurt it. They'll explain why your empty Scotch gla.s.s was at the brownstone. But they'll also give the authorities an additional motive to use against you. What Adrienne did to your mother, your brother--they'll say you wanted to get even, to hurt and humiliate her, and finally to kill her. You see my point."

Somberly, Jonathan nodded. "Yeah, I see. But why would I kill Douglas?"

"For ignoring the obvious. For standing by his wife and turning his back on his kids, and on their mother, when they needed his protection. For expecting you to show respect for a woman you considered to be a twisted b.i.t.c.h and a wh.o.r.e. Believe me, the prosecution will have a field day."

"I didn't do it, Reed. Not the rape. Not the murders."

"Okay, I've heard enough to know where we stand." Reed rose. "Let's go over to the police precinct. Give them their mouth swab for a DNA sample. We'll offer to help in any way we can. But, during the questioning, let me take the lead. Don't lose your cool. Don't answer anything unless I tell you to, and then be as brief as possible. No details. Just be a shocked, grief-stricken son who's horrified by what's happened."

"Which I am," Jonathan said pointedly.

A nod. "Which you are."

Cathy looked up from her desk when Reed and Jonathan emerged.

"I'm going out with Mr. Mallory for a while, Cathy," Reed informed her. "I'll be reachable on my cell. Any calls?"

She leaned forward, handing him two pink slips of paper. "These two messages are urgent. Everything else can wait."

Reed glanced down. The top message was from Richard Harter. It asked Reed to stop by his office ASAP and let him know the outcome of the meeting with Jonathan. Fine. He'd go do that now. That way the partners could heave a collective sigh of relief, and start making the necessary provisions to disa.s.sociate Reed from the firm and pave the way for his new practice.

The second message was from Taylor.

Frowning, Reed looked up. "Cathy, call the Nineteenth Precinct and tell them Mr. Mallory and I are on our way over. Jonathan, have a seat in the reception area. I have to pay someone a quick visit before we take off."

Jonathan shot Reed a derisive, knowing look. "I'm sure you do. Tell the good ol' boys to curtail their enthusiasm. They're off the hook."

Reed headed down the hall and around the bend. He paused at the desk of Richard Harter's secretary. "He's expecting me," he announced.

She nodded, picking up the phone and pressing the intercom b.u.t.ton. "Mr. Weston's here to see you, sir. Go right in," she told Reed.

"Thanks." He walked over and gave a perfunctory knock.

"Come on in, Reed."

Stepping inside, Reed shut the door behind him. "Everything's on track," he said, cutting to the chase. "But I can't stay. I'm on my way to the Nineteenth Precinct with Jonathan."

The message got through loud and clear.

Crossing over to where Reed stood, Harter cleared his throat. "I realize this will be a rocky start for you.

I also realize the irony of the situation. In order to launch the practice you've been pus.h.i.+ng so hard for, you have to begin with the very kind of case you're determined to get away from. But you're a d.a.m.ned good attorney. Jonathan Mallory's lucky to have you on his team. My advice? Keep your eye on the prize."

"You're right. I'll do that." Reed paused, studying the man who'd been his mentor. "Richard, I appreciate everything you've done for me. I know you're in a lousy position yourself. But, remember, it's not the practice of criminal law that offends me. It's defending animals who I know are guilty of vile, unspeakable crimes, but who are rich and powerful enough to pay me to get them off scot-free."

"Vile, unspeakable crimes," Harter repeated quietly. "I think rape and murder qualify as those."

"So do I."

"Then this might turn out to be one of those cases."

"Maybe. But I don't think so. I honestly believe Jonathan's innocent. I doubt the cops will even come up with enough for an arrest. But if I'm wrong, at least I won't have to take a shower each time I walk out of court."

Harter chuckled. "You've got b.a.l.l.s, Reed. You're going to do just fine. As for believing in your client, to most attorneys, that's a bonus. To you, it's a necessity. So I feel a little less guilty and a lot more pleased." He clapped Reed on the shoulder, then stuck out his hand. "I wish you the very best of luck."

"Thanks." Reed met his handshake. "I'm looking forward to the challenge."

"Keep me posted."

"I will."

Reed whipped out his cell phone the minute he left Harter's office, punching up the number of the Dellinger Academy as he retraced his steps to the reception area.

The switchboard operator answered and connected him to Taylor's office.

She picked up on the first ring. "Taylor Halstead."

"It's me. Everything okay?"

"Okay?" she asked incredulously. "Two of your clients were murdered last night. How could everything be okay?"

"I was referring to you."

She ignored the question. "Reed, I've been glued to the Internet, reading the news updates. They tell me nothing but bare-bones facts. I need you to fill me in."

"I can't."

A weighted pause.

"You can't," she repeated. "Why not?"

"Because I don't have a whole lot more details than you do."

"Are the police close to making an arrest?"

"I doubt it. The investigation's just getting under way."

"How heavily does Jonathan Mallory factor into that investigation?"

Another silence, this one more strained than the last.

Reed could actually feel the rift between them forming.

He blew out his breath. "I can't talk now, Taylor. I'm in the middle of a client meeting. The only reason I'm calling is because your message sounded urgent, and I wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

"You're with Jonathan Mallory, aren't you?"

He didn't reply.

"Oh, G.o.d, he is a suspect." Taylor's voice quavered.

"I can't discuss this with you. You know that. I've got to go. Like I said, I just wanted to make sure you hadn't gotten any more threatening phone calls."

"Nope. Not a one. Then again, that's no surprise. The stalker I'm more and more convinced has been making those phone calls is in a client meeting with you."

Reed was nearing the reception area. He could see Jonathan pacing around, waiting for him.

"We can't have this conversation now," he said into the phone. "I'll call you later."

"I'm not sure I'm composed enough or objective enough to listen."

"There's only one way to find out." Reed paused, waiting for her reply.

It took a moment for her to give it.

"All right, Reed," she responded, her tone distinctly cool. "I'll wait for your call. In the meantime, I won't bother packing that bag. Something tells me our weekend at the ski lodge is off."

A quiet click told Reed she'd hung up.

6:45 p.m.

WVNY.

Jack was sitting with Kevin, Dennis, and Laura when Taylor walked into her recording studio that night.

Her brows rose slightly. "Hi. The program manager himself, here to greet me along with my entire staff. To what do I owe this honor?"

"We're worried about you." Jack didn't mince any words.

"Why?"

Kevin snorted. "Don't try the clueless approach, Taylor. You cut out of here early last night to go to that bash for Jonathan Mallory at Le Cirque. Several hours later, the host and hostess were murdered in their own home. We're a radio station. We do have news sources here. We know the police questioned Jonathan Mallory. Was it routine questioning, or do they think he did it?"

Taylor shrugged out of her coat. "I don't know. You've read the wires-- you know as much as I do."

"What about that guy you're seeing?" Jack demanded. "Isn't he Mallory's lawyer?"

"Geez." Taylor blinked. "I didn't realize my life was such an open book."

"If your relations.h.i.+p with Reed Weston is private, you'd better mention it to him," Laura interjected.

"He's called your private line four times in the past twenty minutes." She waved the messages in the air. "He wants to talk to you before you go on the air."

"I see."

"He's not the only one who called." Dennis s.h.i.+fted in his chair, scratching his s.h.a.ggy head and looking very ill at ease. "The police called, too. Laura wasn't at her desk, and the call was forwarded up here, so I answered. Detective"--he glanced at the message he'd jotted down--"Hadman wants to meet with you sometime tomorrow."

Kevin leaned forward. "Why is Hadman calling? He already checked out Romeo, and that was a dead end. So was that kid at Dellinger, Chris Young. Did Hadman trace the calls to someone else?"

"Nope. The number he got from the phone company turned out to be a dead end."

"Then why is Hadman calling you?" Kevin demanded.

"Because all the party guests will be questioned. As for my stalker, he's a low priority now."

"Nothing was said about Jonathan Mallory?"

"No. Nothing." Taylor adjusted the sleeves of her sweater. "Honestly, guys, I appreciate your worrying, but it's not necessary. I'll be fine."

"Yeah, well, there's fine and there's fine," Jack retorted. "You've taken a few too many hits these past months. First your cousin. Then Rick. Next a stalker--one who still hasn't been found. And now this." He folded his arms across his chest, his stance purposeful. "I'll take you over to the Nineteenth Precinct tomorrow. Just let me know what time."

"Same here," Kevin chimed in. "I'll break away whenever you need me to."

"I've got an early cla.s.s at NYU tomorrow." It was Laura's turn to of-fer. "I can skip it. Just say the word."

"I have fewer responsibilities here than anyone." This time when Dennis spoke up, it was without shyness or hesitation. It was with loyalty. "So if this Detective Hadman needs to play your meeting by ear, and it ends up being a spur-of-the-moment thing, I'll take you."

Taylor felt a surge of warmth. "Thanks. All of you. I mean it. But it won't be necessary. Mitch, my PI, goes everywhere with me. He'll run me over to the police precinct either first thing in the morning or right after school. I'll be okay."

"The last part's a matter of opinion." Jack's tone of voice said he was getting to what he'd really come in here to say. "We all think you need a vacation. Two weeks, starting right away. You need to get out of Manhattan, away from painful memories and ongoing crises. You'll be back in time to move into your new apartment. And who knows? Maybe there'll be some resolution to all this by then."

"Jack, I can't." Taylor was shaking her head.

"Why not? Because of Dellinger? Isn't next week midwinter break?"

Taylor stared.

"Yeah. Go ahead, call your boyfriend and ask him to join you."