Phantom Limb Page 15

  “Please don’t tell Charlene about this, okay? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  I gave him my word, and we each headed off to where our cars were parked. Though I kept glancing back over my shoulder, watching as he hobbled down the rows of parked cars. The proud, determined angle of his head. The speed of his awkward gait.

  Which reminded me of something Noah once said. That no matter who someone was, no matter what his or her circumstances, “life kicks the shit outta people.” He’d said this without rancor, or self-pity, or easy pessimism. He’d merely reported it as a simple fact. The humane wisdom of a paranoid schizophrenic.

  ***

  I’d found my car and had just slid behind the wheel when my cell phone rang. I picked up.

  “Dr. Rinaldi? Arthur Drake here.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  “The residence, of course. I’m in my office.”

  “How did you get my cell number?”

  A wry chuckle. “Mike Payton gave Charles a copy of his dossier on you, remember? I have it on the desk in front of me. Of course, all your numbers are there.”

  Of course, I thought. “How can I help you, Mr. Drake?”

  “Frankly, I need to see you. I was hoping you could come to the house now. If it’s convenient.”

  “I don’t know if Lieutenant Biegler would be so wild about that idea. Or Sergeant Polk, for that matter.”

  His tone sharpened. “I’m a civilian, Doctor. As are you. If I invite you here as my personal guest, there’s nothing the police can do to stop it. We’re not interfering in the ongoing investigation. We’re just going to have a drink.”

  I paused. Something was definitely up with the lawyer, but I’d be damned if I knew what it was.

  “And you’d like me to come by now?”

  “As I said, only if it’s convenient.”

  To my ear, his words betrayed a certain urgency, despite the courtesy of his speech. He almost sounded…frightened.

  I looked at the phone in my hand. For the second time today, someone was reaching out to me, asking for my assistance. Both relative strangers. Each from worlds as disparate from one another’s as could be imagined.

  At least I liked Skip Hines. Whereas my opinion of Arthur Drake was a lot more mixed.

  So I’m not exactly sure why I agreed to meet him.

  But I did.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Compared to his employer’s, Arthur Drake’s office was of a modest size, though tastefully decorated. The requisite shelves laden with law books, memorabilia from two different Ivy League schools, a bag of golf clubs in the corner. Framed photos of the lawyer’s wife and two grown daughters. Some award plaques on the walls from various charities and legal organizations.

  The one discordant note was the disabled video camera hanging from a ceiling corner. As in the library, the casing had been opened. Wiring exposed, dangling.

  Drake followed my gaze.

  “I asked the FBI tech to take care of the security camera in here, too. And the microphone. After what’s happened, I don’t want to take any chances. Privacy is very important to me.”

  He indicated a stuffed leather chair opposite his neat, orderly desk. I took a seat. Then he closed the office door and turned the lock.

  “Very important,” he repeated as he returned to sit in the plush armchair behind his desk. Notable among the squared stack of files and gold-plated pen holder on the blotter was a bottle of Wild Turkey and two glasses. One was filled with the rich amber liquid. He raised the empty glass to me.

  “Join me?”

  “Why not?”

  We each took a long swallow of the whiskey. Then, leaning back in his chair, he regarded me carefully.

  “I’m taking a chance talking to you. Especially here in the house. But I don’t dare leave, in case the kidnappers call.”

  I nodded. “I saw the armored truck parked out front. The additional bearer bonds, I assume.”

  “Correct. Another five million.”

  “I also noticed a few more cops on the grounds and in the house. In fact, the front door was answered by a uniform. Was this additional police presence Biegler’s idea?”

  “After he’d cleared it with Chief Logan, yes. Now that Charles is out of commission, Logan and Biegler are seemingly emboldened to act with a freer hand. Let’s hope their decision doesn’t come back to haunt them.”

  “You mean, in case it spooks Julian.”

  A thin smile. “I understand from the lieutenant that the kidnapper’s real name is Raymond Sykes.”

  “News travels fast.”

  “Surely you can understand why. The police wanted to know if Mr. Harland or anyone in the family had any connection to this Sykes. Obviously, the idea is ridiculous. Charles and Lisa are public figures. The perfect targets for a kidnapping. And once someone had access to the security cameras inside the residence—eyes and ears on their personal lives, as it were—it would be easy to orchestrate an abduction.”

  “Makes sense. Though I still don’t know why I’m here. Or why Sergeant Polk allowed it. I assume he’s remained on duty in the library…?”

  “Yes. But I told him I needed to speak to you privately, as a psychologist. A personal matter.”

  “Is that true?”

  His easy smile faded. “What do you think?”

  “I think you’re scared. Maybe you know something about Lisa’s kidnapping. Or maybe it’s something closer to home. Involving the family.”

  “You’re very perceptive, Doctor.”

  He threw back the rest of his drink and poured another.

  “I do have something to tell you, but I must first insist that you treat it with the same discretion as you would if I were your patient. Are you willing to do that?”

  I shrugged. “Sure. As long as you don’t reveal your plans to injure or murder someone. Then I have to amble down the hall and alert Sergeant Polk.”

  Drake chuckled dryly. “The Tarasoff Law. Of course. Your duty to warn. However, I assure you that’s not something you’ll have to worry about.”

  Again, the amusement quickly melted from his face. He seemed to be steeling himself for what he had to say.

  “As you may know, James was not Mr. Harland’s only son. Charles and his first wife had another child, Charles Junior. Though everyone called him Chuck. He was born three years after Jimmy came along.”

  He paused, glass in hand, and peered out the office window at the broad expanse of manicured lawn stretching to the bank of trees beyond.

  “Chuck was the proverbial apple of his father’s eye. He grew into a fine young man. Model student, good at sports. Handsome, too. But the thing everyone loved about him was his character. It’s rare to find a gifted young person who’s also kind. Considerate.”

  “Did you know him?”

  “I knew both boys, though they were practically grown men by the time we met. Jimmy had already graduated college, and Chuck was a senior. That’s when it happened.”

  “What happened?”

  “Chuck began to change. I mean, his personality. Almost overnight he became surly, foul-mouthed. He broke up with his fiancée and started hitting the clubs. Gambling, whoring, doing drugs. The kinds of things that…well, to be candid…that Jimmy had always done.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Since his teens, Jimmy had been in and out of trouble with the law. Drugs. Petty crimes. Associating with undesirables. Low-life types. Though even the wealthy young people he partied with, men and women from prominent families, were of dubious character. Black sheep, if you will. Which made Charles furious, as you can imagine. It certainly broke his mother’s heart.”

  I had a sense of where this was going.

  “Did the family believe that James had introduced Chuck to this lifestyle? The club sce
ne, the drugs and women?”

  “It wasn’t a belief on our part. Jimmy bragged about it. He loved seeing the brother to whom he’d been unfavorably compared all his life brought low. The Golden Boy. His father’s pride and joy. Now just another out-of-control trust fund kid, as embarrassing to the family as Jimmy. If not more so.”

  By then I’d remembered what James had said to me after he’d found me in Lisa’s bedroom. That following his brother’s death, he’d been sent to a psychiatrist.

  “I know that Chuck died,” I said carefully. “How?”

  “An overdose. The police found him in an alley behind a club in Shadyside. The autopsy revealed that Chuck had enough meth and coke in his system to—” Drake lowered his glass to the desk. “It was…tragic. Obscene, really.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about it. Or seeing anything about it on the news.”

  “That’s one of the advantages of wealth and power, Doctor. Charles was able to cover up the true cause of Chuck’s death. They created the story that he’d been killed by a hit-and-run driver who’s unfortunately never been found.”

  I let a silent moment settle between us.

  “Now I understand Harland’s antipathy toward James,” I said at last. “The insulting way they speak to each other.”

  Drake slowly nodded. “Charles has never forgiven Jimmy. And never will. But Jimmy suffers, too. He’s confided in me over the years how guilty he feels about Chuck’s death. I believe that’s why he drinks so heavily. Which only disgusts his father more. No wonder Jimmy’s so embittered. So…lost. Can you imagine? Despised by one’s own father…”

  Once more, the lawyer peered out the window.

  “As far as I’m concerned, Jimmy’s paid enough for what he did. Emotionally, I mean. He’s a victim, too.”

  Another long pause. Eyes still averted, Drake spoke again, voice as soft as breath.

  “I love Jimmy, Doctor. I’ve loved him for years, despite his flaws. His drinking. His insolence.”

  I nodded, though I knew he didn’t see it. His gaze still fixed on the opulent stand of trees. The wind had picked up again, its fingers combing through the full, leafy branches.

  “It cost me my marriage,” he went on. “And my daughters look at me now like I’m a stranger. Someone they don’t recognize anymore. We still have dinner occasionally, but…”

  “I’m sorry, Arthur. Really. Does James know how you feel?”

  A bitter laugh. “Oh, yes. I made the mistake of…I tried to touch him once. To stroke his face, that’s all. And he…he rebuffed me. Has nothing but contempt for me now. But I still care for him. I’m the only one who does.”

  “Yes, I got that impression.”

  He took a breath. “The way everyone treats him…It’s terrible. Unfair. Mike Payton shares Mr. Harland’s disgust. As did poor Donna Swanson, Charles’ nurse. She hated Jimmy, probably for the pain he’s always caused his father.”

  Drake turned back to face me, his eyes moist. He dabbed them with the knuckle of a finger.

  I kept my voice even. “I also got the impression that James doesn’t care much for Lisa Campbell….”

  The lawyer sniffed. “Obviously not. The age difference, for one thing. It infuriates him. He thinks it’s ludicrous. Plus, Jimmy sees her as an interloper. Only after his father’s money.”

  “Which could mean a lot less leftover for James when Daddy dies. Is Lisa now the primary beneficiary of Harland’s estate? As the family lawyer, I assume you would execute any new will—whatever revisions were made after Charles and Lisa married.”

  “You know I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”

  “Right.” I leaned forward in my chair. “One more question. You still haven’t told me what you’re afraid of.”

  He very deliberately folded his hands in front of him.

  “I have no proof of this, you understand. But I’m convinced that Mike Payton is behind Lisa’s kidnapping.”

  “Based on what?”

  “As I say, nothing concrete. Of course, he appears to be very upset about it. Overreacting, in my opinion. And I know he’s always seemed friendly to Lisa since she married Charles. But he is the head of security for Harland Industries. And the Harland family. He’s the one who contracted with the security company that installed all the cameras in the house. So he’d certainly be able to help whoever hacked into the system. Maybe even did it himself.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Don’t forget, at Lisa’s request he prepared the dossier on you. He knew she was going to see you. She’d probably even told him when. No matter who this Raymond Sykes is, I think it’s possible that Payton was behind this all along. That Sykes and his thugs work for him.”

  “But why would Payton do this?”

  “Why would anyone, Doctor? The money. Believe me, I’ve seen it before. A person spends years around all that wealth, and suddenly wants some of it for himself. Even feels entitled to it, after all his hard work and dedication. His sacrifice.”

  I thought this over. “I don’t know, Drake. Seems pretty flimsy to me.”

  “And to me. I’m a lawyer, after all. I know circumstantial evidence when I hear it. That’s why I haven’t shared my concerns with the police.”

  “So why share them with me?”

  “In case something happens to me, I…well, I want someone to take my theory to the proper authorities.”

  “But why me?”

  “I’m pretty perceptive myself, Doctor, and my instincts tell me you can be trusted. Certainly more than anyone else in this house. Even Jimmy. Even given the way I feel about him…”

  He managed a rueful grin. “Funny. A man my age, lusting after a rebel. A bad boy…”

  “James is hardly a boy. Not anymore.”

  “Oh, there you’re wrong, Doctor. In all the ways that matter, Jimmy’s stayed a very young man…Impulsive, unashamed of his appetites, unwilling to conform to being what his father wants him to be…”

  I was struck by the wistfulness in his voice. The unmet yearning. The sober desperation of unrequited love.

  Drake himself seemed aware of it, and quickly looked down.

  Suddenly there was a pounding at the door. And a harsh voice, bellowing. Harry Polk.

  “Drake! It’s Sergeant Polk. Open the damn door!”

  The lawyer climbed out from behind his desk and unlocked the office door. Polk, face flushed, stood on the threshold.

  “That prick Julian finally called. He’s on the line in the library. It’s go time!”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Again, the caller identified himself as Julian. And again, his voice was electronically altered. Robotic, without inflection. As if coming from the other side of the moon.

  “I’m afraid I’m at a loss. Someone’s disabled the security apparatus, so I can’t tell who I’m speaking to.”

  “Makes us even, scumbag,” Polk growled.

  Drake shot him a shocked, warning look. His expression said it all: We can’t afford to antagonize Julian. Not at this stage.

  I caught Polk’s eye, giving him a slightly more collegial version of the same look. He scowled, but got the message. All these hours waiting around in this house hadn’t done much for his attitude. Nor his professional composure.

  Drake, Polk, Payton, Raj, and I were all huddled around the library desk, listening to Julian on speakerphone.

  “Under the circumstances, I don’t have time for our usual pleasantries. So I’ll get straight to the point. I have Lisa. And I assume you have the additional five million dollars. In bearer bonds, of course.”

  Drake spoke firmly. “This is Arthur Drake. I have the funds, yes. But we need proof that Lisa’s still alive.”

  “Naturally.”

  This time, the woman’s voice on the speaker was strained, weak. It was Lisa, unquestionably.
I recognized her immediately. But the vehemence she’d shown previously, the defiant outrage, was gone. She sounded compliant, defeated.

  “Please…give this bastard whatever he wants…Please… He’s gonna kill me…”

  “Lisa! Mrs. Harland!” Drake leaned in toward the phone console. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  There was a muffled sound of movement, a faint, anguished cry. Then a heavy silence. Until Julian spoke once more.

  “She’s alive, as you all heard. But she’s not doing very well. This whole ordeal has been a terrible strain.”

  “Prick.” Payton whispered under his breath. Hands clenched into fists at his sides.

  “Look, I have the money,” Drake went on, hurriedly. “What are the instructions? How do we make the transfer?”

  “That depends. Who’s making the delivery? Again, no cops or Feds…or else Lisa dies.”

  “We understand. That’s why I’ll deliver the ransom myself. Just please do not harm Mrs. Harland.”

  “You’ll get instructions. But first, is Dr. Rinaldi there?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Right here.”

  “Good. Because part of the deal involves you, Doc. You have to accompany Drake to the delivery point.”

  “What?” Polk squinted at the speaker. “No goddamn way.”

  “In case it’s slipped your mind, people, I’m still in charge here. And I say Rinaldi comes with the lawyer. The Doc and I have some unfinished business.”

  There it was. The proof that Sykes was the man on the other end of the call. Our “unfinished business” had to refer to his question to me about the Four Horsemen. The one he was pressing me to answer when he’d been called out of the room.

  Before I could reply, however, Mike Payton put himself between me and the phone console. Face grim.

  “Listen, Rinaldi. Don’t do it. It’s got to be a trap of some kind. Right, Sergeant?”

  Polk shrugged. “That’s the way I read it.”

  “Except we don’t have a choice,” I said.

  “He’s right, you don’t.” That eerie, unseen voice. Tinny. Remorseless. “And I’m losing what little patience I have left, gentlemen. You have one minute to decide. Tick-tock.”