The Finishing School

60

AS SHE LEFT the Sewards’, Melanie reached Detective Leary on his cell phone and explained what she’d just learned. She needed a patrol car dispatched to Harrison Hogan’s apartment right away. But there was a problem. Charlotte Seward hadn’t known Hogan’s home address, and it turned out his telephone number was unlisted. That meant that the fastest way to get the address-short of asking somebody at the school, which might tip Hogan off-was sending a rush subpoena to the telephone company. But by the time Melanie could get back to her office, type a subpoena, and fax it over, Hogan would be long gone with the money, and Carmen would probably be dead. No-their best bet was intercepting Hogan at the school before he could transfer the ten million.

Detective Leary agreed and said he would back her up as soon as he could get there.

“But I’m on the Williamsburg Bridge now, heading for that warehouse Esposito owned,” he said. “Remember? The one we found the key to? I just got a call from the blue-and-white that checked the scene. Whole place is drenched with blood.”

“Blood? From…from who?” Trevor!

“Don’t know. It can’t be from Deon Green, because he was killed in that subway station. But they didn’t find no other body. Somebody got seriously hurt there, that much is clear, and not too long ago neither. So when you think this money transfer is gonna happen? Should I just come straight to you and leave this for later?”

“No. What you’re doing is much more important. I have a witness missing. It could be related.” She told him about Trevor.

“Okay, I’ll be on the lookout for a body matching that description.”

That was not what Melanie wanted to hear, though she couldn’t ignore the terrible ring of truth to it. She wouldn’t let herself think about Trevor dead. Not now. There was still work to be done, and she needed to hope in order to function.

“However you want to play it,” Detective Leary was saying. “But if I’m not gonna back you up myself, let me find you some other guys.”

“Yes, but here’s the problem: If the school’s suddenly crawling with cops, this scumbag will just disappear with the missing girl. We’ll never find her, or my witness either, since he definitely knows where both of them are.”

“I can ask for plainclothes instead of uniforms, if that helps.”

“That would be better,” she said.

“Let me see what I can do. With Christmas and all, not a lot of guys working overtime. Give me your cell number, and I’ll call you soon as I know something. But do me a favor, okay? Hang back till you hear from me?”

“I’ll try. But hurry, okay?”

Melanie needed every second between now and seven-thirty to prepare for what was coming next. The worst thing she could do would be to walk into an encounter with a known killer with no backup and no way to defend herself. She of all people knew how stupid that would be, because she’d done it once before, on the Jed Benson murder case. She’d survived, but she’d rather not make that same mistake twice.

Rushing toward her apartment, Melanie called Dan’s cell phone but only got his voice mail. Even under these crazy circumstances, Dan’s voice on the recording thrilled her. God, she was gone on this guy. It scared her how much. She took a deep breath and left him an all-business message detailing what she’d learned and what she planned to do. This call was just intended to keep the team in the loop, after all. But before she hung up, she couldn’t resist adding something more private.

“Hey, listen, I hope you’re not mad that I ran off. I had no choice. Like you said, I step up when my name’s called. There’s something I want you to know, though, something I want to tell you before-”

Her other line beeped.

“Oh. Hold on,” she told Dan’s voice mail, and picked it up. “Hello?”

“Melanie?” said a young girl’s voice.

“Lulu? Where are you?”

“Listen, something bad is going down. Dr. Hogan is messed up.”

“Do you know where he is? Or where Carmen is? You need to tell me!”

“I think he’s gonna take her to Holbrooke to try to get some money. Then I’m afraid he’s gonna kill her.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll be there to stop him, don’t worry.”

“Me, too! I’m going over now.”

“Don’t, okay? Let me handle it. I’ve got the police coming and everything. Just go home. I promise you, I’ll protect Carmen.”

“I know my way around the school. I can help.”

“Lulu, no. It’s not safe.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Lulu said, and hung up.

Damn. Lulu wasn’t going to listen. Melanie clicked to the other line, but Dan’s phone had cut off. She’d reached her apartment by now. She’d better go in, and fast. She needed something from her closet, and it wasn’t an outfit.

Melanie unlocked the front door and walked into darkness.

“Hello?” she called, flipping on the light.

Silence echoed back at her. A note taped to the mirror above the front-hall table read, “Maya much better. Took her to my place for the night. Steve.”

Her stomach hurt with how much she longed to see her daughter. But it was a quarter to seven. She didn’t have a moment to spare if she wanted Carmen to live.

In her bedroom Melanie stripped off the pants and top she’d put on yesterday, in her room in the El San Juan after having sex with Dan. Don’t think about that now. They wouldn’t pass muster if she planned to crash the Holbrooke gala, especially not in their current bedraggled state. The invitation she’d borrowed from Charlotte Seward was unequivocal: black tie required. She took a two-minute shower, as much to wake herself up as to get clean, and slicked her wet hair into the pretense of an elegant knot at her neck. She did her eyes in five seconds flat, stroked on some killer red lipstick, and headed for the closet. Linda’s outfit from the other night was the best she could do. She pulled it on, then reached for the thing she’d really come home for.

It rested in a locked metal box hidden at the back of her closet-the nine-shot Beretta she’d bought in a fit of anxiety in the aftermath of the Benson case, when she was dealing with the emotional consequences of having killed a man, of almost getting killed herself. She’d never once fired it, and she didn’t plan to now. By the time they got to the gunplay, the real cops would have arrived. But it made her feel cold and hard and equal to the task before her.

She opened the combination lock and lifted it out reverently. It was a sexy little gun, matte black and neat in her hand. It looked great with her outfit and fit perfectly in her beaded evening bag. She snapped out the clip and cocked the hammer, making sure there was a round in the chamber so it was ready to fire. Otherwise why bother to bring it? Nothing more useless than an unloaded gun.

BY THE TIME Melanie reached Holbrooke, it was 7:10 and snowing heavily. The school’s many windows were lit with graceful holiday tapers, its red double doors thrown open and decked with evergreen boughs. New York’s elite poured from chauffeured Mercedeses and BMW sedans. The men looked distinguished and aloof in their tuxedos. The women wore expensive furs and couture dresses, diamonds twinkling at their ears as they held their tiny evening bags over their heads to keep the snow off their freshly styled hair. Down the block a row of horse-drawn carriages waited. They were all draped with banners in the Holbrooke colors of scarlet and gold.

Melanie blended into the line of guests waiting to present their engraved invitations at the door. Around her, people greeted one another effusively, air-kissing, chatting of this Caribbean island or that ski resort. She was alone, unknown, and, even in her best things, under-dressed for the power crowd. Nobody questioned her. Nobody paid her the slightest bit of attention, in fact. She might have been invisible, which suited her purposes exactly.

The exquisite young man who checked her invitation was an actor or a model by the look of him. He gave her a blinding smile and directed her to the main auditorium.

“Ladies’ room?” she asked.

“Down the stairs to your right. The live auction is under way, and champagne and hors d’oeuvres are now being served in the auditorium.”

“Thank you.”

When she reached the lower level, Melanie glanced around to make sure nobody was watching, then proceeded quickly to the deserted back staircase and up to the second floor. She walked the empty, shadowy corridors, stepping lightly so her borrowed Manolos wouldn’t clatter on the linoleum and give her away. She was looking for the development office, which she remembered passing when she’d interviewed Patricia Andover. Hogan had no choice but to bring Carmen there in order to move the ten million. The Holbrooke account required biometric identification, which could happen only via a specialized fingerprint scanner connected to the development office’s computer. Her best shot was to hide in the room, let Hogan access the account, and call in the raid before he could transfer the money. She glanced at her watch-7:20, and she still hadn’t heard from Detective Leary. She took her cell phone from her bag and checked to make sure she hadn’t missed any calls. Nothing. She dialed Leary’s cell but got voice mail.

“Detective,” she whispered into her phone, “it’s Melanie Vargas from the U.S. Attorney’s Office again. Please call and let me know what arrangements you’ve made to get me backup. Nothing’s happened yet, but I’m expecting Hogan to show up any minute. In fact, I have to turn my phone to silent, so if I don’t pick up, please leave a message. It’s very urgent. I really need your help. Thanks.”

She hung up nervously. Surely Leary would come through for her. She’d made the situation sufficiently clear, hadn’t she? He had to understand that she was in danger, although she would’ve thought he’d have called back by now. There was nothing more she could do at the moment, however. She wouldn’t call 911 to get a car dispatched unless the situation became truly desperate. If Hogan saw uniforms, he’d just cut and run.

Rounding the corner to the administrative wing, Melanie pulled back sharply, her heart skipping a beat. Goddamn it, he’d beaten her here! The entire hallway was dark, except for a single rectangle of light illuminating the floor in front of the development office. The door was closed, two distinct shadows visible in relief against its frosted-glass window. The muffled voices coming from within sounded low and urgent, as if they were arguing. That was bad. She’d better move, before Hogan did something to Carmen, before he harmed her.

Hugging the wall, Melanie advanced toward the brightly lit door, struggling to control her anxious breathing, to still even the rustling of her clothes. But when she got within a few feet, she realized that Hogan hadn’t trumped her after all. The voices coming from the development office belonged to James Seward and Patricia Andover.

“I don’t understand why you won’t do this one thing for me,” Seward whined.

“How many times do I have to explain? I can’t. Changing the fingerprint access requires Carmen!” Patricia sounded on edge, almost hysterical. “Besides, I’m not doing anything until you answer my question. Where were you Monday night when Whitney died? Answer me, damn it!”

“You think I was with someone?”

“I just need to hear that you didn’t kill your stepdaughter!”

“Are you serious? Wow, Patricia, that’s crazy. Completely insane. Although I have to admit, I’m somewhat flattered.”

“You didn’t?” The audible relief in Patricia’s voice confirmed for Melanie that the two were having an affair. The headmistress obviously cared for this man.

“Of course not. Whitney’s death was extremely ill timed for me.”

“Just tell me where you were, so I believe you.”

“Take my word for it, it’s better if you don’t know the details.”

“You were with another woman, weren’t you?”

“No! Jesus, Patricia, you’re like a broken record. Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but I was doing some fund-raising.”

“So why the big mystery?”

“Because. It was with a gentleman who represents a consortium of interests that prefer to avoid government scrutiny. Do I make myself clear? Now, don’t ask me anything else.”

“If you have other sources of money, James, why the hell are you putting me at risk like this?”

He chuckled. “What’s that line about too rich and too thin?”

“You have enough, James,” she said flatly.

“Oh, come on, you know I need money, Patricia. You promised you’d help. I thought you had the guts to see this through,” he said.

“I can’t believe this! You don’t give a rat’s ass if I get caught, do you? I’m going downstairs right this instant, before the Van Allens end up at the podium without me. You can come or not. I don’t give a shit anymore. And I’m not going through with it. I’m just not.”

The door flew open with a bang. Melanie shrank back into the darkness, heart pounding, as Patricia Andover flounced down the hallway in her ball gown. Seward immediately followed, flipping off the light and pulling the door of the development office closed behind him. He didn’t lock it, so unless the door locked automatically, she should be able to get in.

Melanie waited, holding her breath, until their footsteps had faded away and everything around her was deathly silent. Then she crept swiftly back toward the door, grasped the handle, and turned it. It was locked. What an idiot-why hadn’t she thought of this? The office held not only confidential financial information but evidence of Patricia’s crimes. The headmistress was a careful woman; she would never leave it open. Melanie should’ve thought about getting her hands on a master key somehow.

“Goddamn it,” she muttered, jiggling the handle, then sucked in a startled breath. Around the corner, behind her, she’d heard something. Like a footstep. A footstep that stopped when she made noise. Man, she was screwing this up big time. Get smarter, Melanie Vargas! She hurried on tiptoe to the next office: HEAD, LOWER SCHOOL. She turned the handle as silently as she could. It gave. Yes! Diving in and pulling the door closed behind her, she silently thanked the head of the Lower School for being so careless.

Melanie caught her breath and strained to listen. The footsteps started up again. Reverberating in the deserted hallway, they advanced toward her. She made out the sound of one person walking. Yes, definitely one person. Could Hogan have killed Carmen already? Wait a minute! The footsteps passed the development office’s door. They were moving closer. They were outside the door of this office. Melanie backed farther into the room, looking around frantically. In the dim light filtering through the blinds, she saw only one place to hide. Under the desk. She pulled the swivel chair out and crawled into the desk well, dragging the chair in behind her, heart hammering against her rib cage. Just then she heard the doorknob turn. Somebody was coming in after her.