Most Wanted

20

IN THE LIGHT OF DAY, THE DESPERATION OF THE night before seemed alien to Melanie. Her fear had vanished, and with it the strange intimacy she’d felt as she lay in her darkened bedroom talking to Dan O’Reilly on the telephone.

Steve had something to do with that. He had woken her up, banging on the front door just as the sun was rising.

“Melanie!” he called. “The chain’s on! Let me in!”

She jumped out of bed and hurried to the foyer in nightgown and bare feet. Tiptoeing up to the door, she peered through the peephole. Better make extra sure it was really Steve. After last night she couldn’t be too careful.

The face was distorted by the lens, but definitely his. Not that that meant she should open the door. Steve was dangerous in his own way.

“Mel, I can hear you breathing. I know you’re there.”

She opened the door a crack, leaving the chain on. Steve was one of those rugged, sporty-looking blonds who tanned. Like Robert Redford in his glory days, Steve always looked as if he’d just climbed off the back of a horse or been squinting into the prairie sun. Okay, so he really caught those rays on the tennis court. But, hell, that turned her on, too.

“What are you doing here at this hour?” She made her voice as cold as she could manage. She knew she was vulnerable.

“Didn’t you get my message? I took the red-eye. My plane just got in.”

“So? Go to your parents’. You don’t live here anymore.”

His face fell. She noticed suddenly how exhausted he looked, unshaven, pale beneath his tan, his fine blue dress shirt creased from sleeping on the plane. She un-fastened the chain and opened the door a little wider.

“Are you okay?”

“Please, Mel?” He sounded hoarse, even choked up. “Can’t I come in? Can’t I come in for just a minute and see you and Maya? I miss you guys so much!”

Didn’t she miss him, too? And long for things to be how they were before?

“Okay,” she said, opening the door, telling herself she’d probably regret this.

He rushed in, grabbed her, and held on like his life depended on it, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t push him away. He buried his face in her neck. She reached up to hold his head, to comfort him. His hair was shaggy, flowing over his collar. She used to remind him when he needed a haircut, but she’d stopped doing that after she found out about Samantha. It wasn’t like him not to take care of himself. It meant he was suffering. She felt his pain as if it was her own. Wait a minute, it was her own! He was the one who hurt her! What was she doing comforting him?

“Steve-”

“No, please,” he said, touching his fingertip to her lips. “Please, don’t say anything. Let’s pretend for a minute that this never happened. I miss you so much, Mel. I just need to hold you for a minute like normal, okay? Please?”

He looked into her eyes. Then he started to kiss her, slowly and deeply, until they were both breathing hard and his hands were wandering around under her nightgown. Before she knew it, they were doing it standing up against the wall in the entry foyer.

Okay, they always had amazing sex. Especially the make-up sex-increíble. Out-of-control crazy. She remembered a time on their honeymoon, on an overnight train in France, after a terrible argument. They’d practically wrecked their sleeper compartment, knocking an open bottle of red wine onto the carpet, breaking the folding bunk. He could always get her with sex. That and his sweet talk. But now, even with her behind bumping against the wall, her legs up around his waist as she cried out with pleasure, she couldn’t forget all that was wrong between them. He was gorgeous. He was incredible in bed. He did push her emotional buttons. Trouble was, she couldn’t forget he’d shared all that with another woman.

“Steve?” she gasped, her nails digging into the expensive fabric of his shirt. “This…is…not…a…good…idea.”

“Ohhh, baby, you are so hot!”

Okay, maybe this was not the moment for serious discussion. She’d use him for sex, talk later. A girl has needs, after all.

When they were finished, he carried her into the bedroom and dumped her onto the bed, then collapsed beside her.

“God, I’m an idiot!” he cried. “What a tragedy.”

She sat up on one elbow and studied him. Was it possible he shared her anguish? That he felt the same sadness she did, having sex, with their estrangement weighing them down? Maybe this guy was really ready to work on things.

“Why do you say that?” she asked thoughtfully.

“Because.” He leaned over and kissed her lightly on the lips. “You are the hottest thing on this planet. That face, that body. Wild in the sack. What was I thinking, when I had this at home?”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. So if she had a bad hair day or gained a few pounds, he’d be out there looking for someone better?

“Steve, you’re not an idiot.” She paused. “You’re an asshole.”

She marched into the bathroom, slammed the door, and locked it.

“Melanie,” he called a minute later from the other side of the door, “I’m sorry! It came out wrong, okay? I’m exhausted. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight. All I meant was, I’m crazy about you and I can’t believe how I screwed up. Melanie?”

She turned the shower on full blast to drown out his words and stood under the scalding spray. She’d been so happy with him, and he had to go fuck it up just when they should’ve been closest because of the new baby, just when she needed him most. She knew she wouldn’t stay with him if it wasn’t the right thing. Where children were involved, she believed in forgiveness. But not if he kept acting the way he just did, like he truly didn’t get it. And yet, what would happen if they couldn’t put it back together? All her white-dress dreams would be over. She always promised herself that, no matter what, she’d never get divorced. She’d give Maya a better childhood than she’d had.

By the time she came out of the bathroom, Steve had crawled under the covers and fallen dead asleep. She looked at his handsome face and felt her heart break all over again. How many times had she watched him sleep, secure and happy in the knowledge that he belonged to her? Now he felt like a stranger.

She got dressed quickly. If she didn’t leave right away, she’d go totally loca. Work was the answer. Work was always the answer. She’d go check out that new lead. Steve could stay with Maya until Elsie showed up.

She was heading out of the room when it struck her. Today was the day. She’d declare independence, then figure things out from there. She had to tug hard to get them off. She left the wedding and engagement bands on the bedside table, right where he couldn’t miss them.

MELANIE WALKED THROUGH DAPPLED LIGHT ON a leafy block in the East Sixties, checking the numbers on the beautifully maintained brownstones. She found Sarah van der Vere’s building and studied the names written beside the intercom. Sarah lived on the second floor, but Melanie didn’t want to announce herself if she could possibly avoid it. Peering through a pane of etched glass set into the wooden door, she saw a mom in shorts and running shoes in the foyer loading her baby into a jogger-stroller. The mom turned and opened the front door. Melanie held it for her so she could maneuver the stroller through.

“Thanks,” the mom said, looking at Melanie questioningly.

“I’m a friend of Sarah’s,” Melanie explained. “Two, right?”

“Yup, parlor level.”

Whoever had taken the evidence from her bag last night knew that, too. She hoped they wouldn’t decide to pay Sarah a visit, because the security here was nonexistent. With her black pantsuit, heels, and briefcase, Melanie looked plenty respectable, but still…The mom had let her in without checking at all. Life without a doorman. The place was beautiful, though, the foyer cool, elaborately wallpapered. In Manhattan real estate, you made trade-offs.

She walked up the stairs and pressed the buzzer outside Sarah’s door. No answer. She buzzed again, holding the button down longer.

“Who is it?” a voice answered warily after a couple of minutes.

“Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office, Sarah. We met in the elevator at your firm yesterday. I’m here to talk to you about Jed Benson’s murder.”

Complete silence. A moment passed, then another.

“Sarah?” she called, more insistently this time.

“You have the wrong apartment. Go away.”

“I know I’m in the right place. If you don’t open the door, I’ll have to come interview you at work.”

Melanie held her breath, listening. A moment later she heard the sound of the chain being removed. Sarah van der Vere opened the door and stepped aside, frowning. Still in her bathrobe, wet hair streaming over her shoulders, she looked young, yet firmly in possession of herself.

Melanie walked past her into a large, loftlike space. The internal walls had been removed from what had once been a one-bedroom floor-through. Light streamed in through tall windows at either end of the apartment, reflecting off lovely hardwood floors. In the front part of the space, two love seats were arranged before a charming old mantel. Opposite, a sleek kitchen opened to the room, divided off by a marble breakfast bar and two high stools. At the far end, a queen-size bed stood against one wall, its rumpled sheets telling of a fitful sleep.

Melanie gestured toward the seating area. “Let’s talk,” she said.

“What do you want?” Sarah asked irritably, not moving from her spot near the door.

“You spoke to me on the elevator yesterday. I know you know something about Jed Benson’s murder.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Sarah’s face was bright red, her breathing fast. Was she angry or scared?

“Are you afraid to talk to me, Sarah?” Melanie asked, searching her face.

“Afraid? No! I just don’t know why you’re here accusing me, that’s all. Jed was my supervisor. I don’t know anything about his death. Why should I?”

She was clearly lying. And the way she said Jed Benson’s name had an interesting ring to it. An intimate ring. Melanie took a shot in the dark.

“Sarah, somebody wanted Jed Benson dead. Given your close personal relationship with him, you could be next. You need to talk to me.”

“What do you know about me and Jed?” Sarah scoffed.

“We know a lot,” Melanie bluffed.

Sarah stood there for a second in silence. Then, slowly, her chin began to quiver, her face crumpled, and she started to sob. There was a stagy, overdone quality to the display, and Melanie made no move to comfort her. Besides, it was too galling, given Melanie’s own current circumstances. Sarah might be young, but she was old enough to know it was wrong to sleep with your married boss. And if the big secret was an affair with Jed Benson, it wasn’t much of a lead. No reason to think such an affair would have caused Benson’s murder.

Sarah got up and bolted for a door off the kitchen, leaving it ajar. Melanie heard the sounds of water being turned on and Sarah sobbing melodramatically.

“Go away! Just go away!” Sarah cried, and slammed the bathroom door.

Melanie sighed and checked her watch. She was due downtown in half an hour to meet Dan and Randall for the trip to Otisville. She needed to wrap this up and get on her way, and she hadn’t gotten a single useful piece of information yet. But something told her not to quit. The karma here was weird.

She moved farther into the room, looking around. A side table next to the bed held a telephone-and-answering-machine combo with a caller ID display. Glancing at the bathroom door first, Melanie leaned over and began scrolling back through the caller ID, reviewing Sarah’s telephone calls. All the calls in the past day or so had come from the same cell-phone number. It had called her twelve times last night alone between 9:58 P.M. and 1:40 A.M. Someone had something pretty urgent to discuss with Sarah van der Vere. Melanie snatched her notebook from her briefcase and copied down the number.

“You okay in there, Sarah?” she called through the closed door.

“I said go away!” Sarah yelled between sobbing breaths.

Melanie crossed to a tall dresser standing against the wall opposite the bed and examined the things strewn across its top. A wallet, some jewelry, and a large, old-fashioned clock radio. She quickly went through the wallet. Nothing interesting, just cash and credit cards. The clock radio was odd. Clunky, cumbersome. She looked closer. The knobs were phony. She lifted it up and studied it. Huh.

“Sarah,” she called, trying to keep the excitement out of her voice, “when are you planning to come out of there?”

“I’m not coming out until you leave!”

Melanie knew a thing or two about hidden cameras. Generally they broadcast to receivers equipped with video recorders. Judging from the vintage of this one, it probably had limited range, meaning that the receiver must be hidden in this room somewhere. The closet next to the dresser, perhaps? Caught up in the rush of discovery, anxious about getting caught snooping, Melanie didn’t have a moment to waste. She hurried to the closet, turned the knob slowly to avoid telltale creaking, and eased the door open. Unbelievable, there it was. A video recorder, in plain view on the floor of Sarah’s closet. Melanie knelt down and pushed “eject.” A videocassette popped out. She held it in her hand, staring at it, heart pounding. You never could tell about people. The camera in the clock radio pointed directly at Sarah’s bed. Maybe it was just her own private porno, but maybe she was blackmailing Jed Benson with tapes of their trysts. Difficult to imagine how that would result in him winding up dead as opposed to her, but still, this had to be important.

Sarah turned off the water in the bathroom. Swiftly, Melanie closed the closet and shoved the videotape into her briefcase. She headed for the front door.

“Look, Sarah,” she called loudly, “I’ll leave now. But I’m warning you, this isn’t over.” No response.

“Once you know you’re needed for questioning, you can be charged with contempt if you leave town.”

Nothing. This girl was beginning to annoy her.

“I’ll pull the door closed behind me, Sarah. You’ll be hearing from me.”