Blind Faith (5 page)
"
"My niece is a hopeless romantic. Someday she'll pay heavily for that weakness."
Kelly stood up. There was nothing more to say. She wasn't getting through to Cecily, any more than Cecily was getting through to her. "I still think there's something you're not telling me." She picked up her purse. "When you're ready to tell me what that is, give me a call. And if it's something that could expedite the search for Jonathan, I urge you to tell me very quickly. Or the police if you'd prefer."
Cecily rose as well and walked her to the door. "I suppose deep down I already knew what your answer would be, but I had to try." A good sport, she smiled. "What will you do first? Talk to
Syd
Webber?"
"He's at the top on my list."
"Beware of him, Kelly. He may be rich, charming and successful, and he may rub elbows with all the right people, but underneath that pretty veneer is a corrupt man who will stop at nothing to get what he wants.
Remember that when you talk to him."
Knowing how Cecily felt about
Syd
Webber, Kelly took the advice with a grain of salt. Her disapproval of the man, however, wasn't entirely unjustified. Earlier this morning, Kelly had logged on to
Nexis
, the newspaper database, and retrieved every bit of information she could gather on the casino tycoon. He was no saint. In
Marquese
and had been implicated in a scam involving Chinese refugees.
He was later exonerated, but a cloud of suspicion had hung over his head for a long time after that.
"I'll remember. Thanks for the advice."
Kelly wasn't in the habit of giving day-to-day accounts of her activities to anyone, but Cecily was almost
family
. "I'll let
Five.
Every time Kelly came to
Once a playground for the elite,
The advent of legalized casino gambling in the late seventies was supposed to have helped return the city to its former grandeur, but somewhere along the way politicians had lost track of their good intentions. While casinos prospered and developers made tons of money, behind the glitz and glamour of the boardwalk poverty remained untouched.
It wasn't until a new mayor was elected that the long-overdue renovation plans for
un
habitable homes were torn down and replaced, and employment rose. The transformation wasn't happening overnight, but little by little,
The ocean-front
Chenonceau
was a twenty-three story glass-and-concrete structure that surpassed even Donald Trump's
Taj
Mahal
in glamour and opulence. The vast lobby was a study in gold, with a huge marble fountain in the center and swank boutiques all around, where high rollers spent their winnings without bothering to look at the price tags.
From the busy casino floor, Kelly could hear the continuous clang of slot machines and an occasional shout of triumph as a gambler hit the jackpot.
Although she had made an appointment to see
Syd
Webber, it took the receptionist nearly fifteen minutes to locate him. When he finally showed up, he recognized Kelly right away, even from a distance. He hadn't changed at all since she'd last seen him, at Jonathan and Victoria's fourth wedding anniversary party. Of medium height and build, he walked with the quick, long stride of a man sure of himself.
His eyes were dark, his mouth wide and well-defined. Thick black hair, touched with gray and cut longer in the back, curled around his collar, giving him the kind of bad-boy appeal women loved.
He assessed her quickly, with an appraising head to-toe glance, and smiled, exposing perfect white teeth. "Miss.
Robolo
," he said, taking her hand into his.
"How good to see you again.
And I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting. We had a crisis in the theater.
Pavarotti is scheduled to perform in exactly eight hours and the sound system has chosen this very moment to break down."
"I'm sorry, too. I seem to have caught you at a bad time." Kelly allowed him to hold her hand a second longer before withdrawing it. "If this visit could wait, I'd leave right now, but it can't."
"What made you think I'd let you leave?" Before she could think of an appropriate answer, he took her arm and led her toward a bank of elevators behind the lobby. "Still no news of Jonathan?"
"Not the kind we wanted to hear." She told him what she knew but made no
reference
to Detective Quinn's drug-trafficking suspicions.
He pushed a button labeled Executive
And
Administrative Floor. "Do you have any idea what Jonathan was doing in
"Not yet. I was hoping you could help me with that."
"I don't see how, but I'll do my best."
On the eighteenth floor, the doors slid open and he led the way toward a door with a simple brass plaque bearing his name. There were other offices on this floor and Kelly assumed one of them belonged to Jonathan.
Webber's office was a surprise. There was no flash here and not a speck of gold. Elegant and masculine, the room was furnished with teal chairs upholstered in a
nubby
fabric, a large mahogany desk, an Oriental rug that didn't look like a reproduction and large wraparound windows that offered an unobstructed view of the
"Great view, isn't it?" He stood in front of a well stocked liquor cabinet and poured sparkling water into two crystal tumblers.
"Fabulous."
"The view is the reason I put the executive offices on the eighteenth floor." He handed her one of the glasses. "Please sit down, Kelly.
It's all right if I call you Kelly, isn't it? It's such a pretty name."
He gave her another of his dazzling smiles.
"Though not very Italian."
"My father's choice.
My mother won the other round, with my middle name."
"Very Italian.
Noemi." She chuckled as she said it.
"After my grandmother."
"It's lovely, too."
"And you're very flattering, Mr. Web--"
"Uh-uh." Holding up his glass, he raised his index finger and shook it.
"
Syd
.
Please."
Deep inside her mind, Kelly heard the sound of a warning bell. Her host was much too charming, almost to the point of being distracting. She might even have enjoyed flirting with him a little if the circumstances of her visit were different.
She uncrossed her legs and assumed a more professional pose. "
Syd
it is." She put her glass down.
"I know you're busy so I'll try to make my questions brief. First of all, I'd be a hypocrite if I pretended to have never heard of your ...
alleged mob connections."
The remark brought an amused twinkle to his eyes. "As long as you remember they're alleged."
"Did that bother Jonathan? Did he question you about the problem you'd had with the Casino Control Commission prior to opening the
Chenonceau
?"
She already knew the answer to that question but she wanted to hear it from him.
"We discussed it. Those rumors, as it turned out, were manufactured by another casino developer eager to bury the competition. But to answer your question, no, the allegations did not bother Jonathan and they did not stop him from coming to work with me. He's a bright young man. He knows a winning hand when he sees one."
She smiled at that. "Yes, I'm sure he does." She looked into her drink for a second before asking, "Are you surprised that he went to
"Very. I don't recall him ever mentioning
"Only to visit my father.
He retired to
He was smart.
And quick.
"Would you say that you know Jonathan well?"
Syd
shrugged.
"As well as could be expected under the circumstances."
"What does that mean?"
He took another sip of water before replying. "Jonathan is a very private man, as I'm sure you know. Being a private man myself, I respect his wishes to keep his personal life separate from the
Chenonceau
.
Frankly, that's not very difficult. Except for casino related matters and Monday-night football, Jonathan and I didn't have many things in common. He plays golf and tennis, I don't. I like deep-sea
fishing,
he won't go near a boat. He's married, I'm a confirmed bachelor."
A confirmed bachelor with an eye for beautiful women and a new one by his side every couple of months. "But surely you would have known if he was in some kind of trouble."
"I'm not a mind reader, but yes, I suppose I would have noticed."
"
"None."
He glanced at her glass, which was still full, and walked over to the cabinet to refill his. "To my recollection, Jonathan was his normal self that entire week. I didn't even notice he was getting sick."
Syd
came back to his seat. "But then I guess he wasn't, was he?"
"Apparently not.
Are you the one who took his call yesterday morning?"
"No, his secretary did."
That would be Martha
Grimwald
. Jonathan always spoke highly of her.
"Would you mind if I spoke with her?" Kelly asked.
"Not at all."
Syd
picked up an extension on a side table and pressed a button. "Martha, could you come in for a minute? Thank you."
Martha
Grimwald
was a pleasant, middle-aged woman with graying brown hair and a look of quiet efficiency about her. As if sensing that the summons may have confidential overtones, she quickly closed the door.
"Martha, this is Kelly
Robolo
,"
Syd
said, rising from his chair to meet her halfway. "She's a reporter for the Philadelphia Globe, but more important, she is a close friend of the
Bowmans
'. She's here to try to make some sense out of Jonathan's disappearance."
At
Syd's
silent invitation, Martha sat down. "I'll do whatever I can to help.
."
"Thank you, Mrs.
Grimwald
." Kelly waited until
Syd
had taken his seat again before continuing. "I need to know if Jonathan did anything unusual in the past week or so. Did anyone you didn't know come to see him? Or perhaps you overheard a phone conversation?"
' Martha's
shoulders stiffened slightly. "I don't eavesdrop.
."
"I didn't mean to imply that you did." Trying to amend herself, Kelly smiled. "I was being hopeful."
Kelly's candor brought a smile to Martha's lips. "I don't recall anything out of the ordinary.
.
Jonathan is a creature of habit, you see. He loves his routine and seldom varies from it."
"Surely.
He's vice president in charge of marketing, and as such, one of his first duties each morning is to meet with his marketing staff.
They go over promotional brochures, special hotel packages and other ways of promoting the casino. After that he goes back to his office, catches up with his mail, makes phone calls and meets with Mr. Webber."
Syd
concurred with a short nod.
"Does he go out to lunch or does he eat in the casino?" Kelly asked.
"Neither. Mr. Bowman always orders a sandwich from the cafeteria and eats at his desk while he works." She shook her head in disapproval. "I keep telling him that's not healthy, but he won't listen."
"Do you screen all his calls?"
"Only if they come through the main switchboard."
"Why wouldn't they?"
"Mr. Bowman and the other VPs have private lines. So does Mr. Webber."
"I see." The phone records could be requisitioned, but only by the police.
"Does he have a palm pilot?" she asked suddenly. "You know, one of those electronic wonders that keeps track of your appointments?"
"He keeps one with him at all times, but he backs everything up on his computer so I know where he is if I need to contact him."
Kelly glanced at
Syd
, who again bowed his head. "I'll be happy to take you to Jonathan's office. Right now, if you're finished with Martha."
Kelly rose. She was very anxious to see Jonathan's office. "Right now would be fine, thank you."
Six.
Kelly's visit to the
Chenonceau
had been disappointing. While
Syd
Webber and Martha
Grimwald
had seemed eager to help, both had failed to provide a single clue as to Jonathan's disappearance.
Confirming what Martha had told her, Jonathan's appointments for the week had been entered in his computer and were available at the click of a mouse. With
Syd's
permission, Kelly had sat in front of the monitor and quickly scrolled up and down the screen. Jonathan's work week was pretty much as his secretary had described. Meticulous to a fault, he had outlined the subject of his various meetings, who he meant to call that day and why. The entry for February 7 showed a meeting with his marketing staff and Phoebe's dance recital, both of which he had missed.
There was no mention of a trip to
As Kelly merged onto the Atlantic City Expressway, she thought of some of the more complex stories she had investigated over the years. In many instances, time had been on her side. She didn't have that luxury with Jonathan. As in a kidnapping, each hour that passed made the search more difficult, the trail colder,
the
hopes more desperate.
Not to mention that this time she didn't have the cooperation of the police.
Her thoughts turned to Detective Quinn. Maybe she hadn't played her cards right with him and should try a new approach.
A little groveling, perhaps.
Such tactics weren't exactly her style, but in
apinch
, she could grovel with the best of them.
As her right hand rummaged through her bag in search of the detective's phone number, she kept her eyes on the road, looking for a place to stop. Five minutes later she was pulling into a rest area, Quinn's number in her hand.
"Let me see if he's in," the desk sergeant said when she identified herself.
When Quinn came on the line, he sounded just as cranky as he had before.
"Yes,
?" He made no effort to disguise the irritation in his voice.
"Good morning. Detective," she said in her most affable voice. "I was wondering if you could give me an update on the desk clerk's condition."
"Unchanged."
