Sidney Sheldon (12 page)

T
HE WORDS KEPT
echoing through Diane Stevens’s brain:
This is Ron Jones. I just wanted to let you know that I received your paperwork and the change was made, just as you requested…. We cremated your husband’s body one hour ago.

How could the mortuary have made such a mistake? Lost in her grief, could she have called and asked them to cremate Richard? Never. And she had no secretary. None of it made any sense. Someone at the mortuary had misunderstood, confused Richard’s name with a similar name of another body at the mortuary.

They had delivered an urn with Richard’s ashes in it. Diane stood, staring at it. Was Richard really in there?…Was his laughter in there?…The arms that had held her close…the warm lips that had pressed against hers…the mind that had been so bright and funny…the voice that had said, “I love you”…were all his dreams and passions and a thousand more things in that little urn?

Diane’s thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the telephone.

“Mrs. Stevens?”

“Yes…”

“This is Tanner Kingsley’s office. Mr. Kingsley would appreciate it if he could make an appointment for you to come and meet with him.”

T
HAT HAD BEEN
two days ago, and now Diane was walking through the entrance of KIG and approaching the reception desk.

The receptionist said, “May I help you?”

“My name is Diane Stevens. I have an appointment to see Tanner Kingsley.”

“Oh, Mrs. Stevens! We’re all so sorry about Mr. Stevens. What a terrible thing to happen. Terrible.”

Diane swallowed. “Yes.”

T
ANNER WAS TALKING
to Retra Tyler. “I have two meetings coming up. Let’s do a complete scan on both of them.”

“Yes, sir.”

He watched his assistant leave.

The intercom buzzed. “Mrs. Stevens is here to see you, Mr. Kingsley.”

Tanner pressed one of the buttons on the electronic panel on his desk and Diane Stevens appeared on a wall television screen. Her blonde hair was tied back in a knot, and she was wearing a white and navy pinstriped skirt, and a white blouse. She looked pale.

“Send her in, please.”

He watched Diane walk in the door and rose to greet her. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Stevens.”

Diane nodded. “Good morning.”

“Please, sit down.”

Diane took a chair across from his desk.

“Needless to say, all of us were shocked by your husband’s brutal murder. You can be sure that whoever is responsible will be brought to justice as quickly as possible.”

Ashes…

“If you don’t mind, I would like to ask you a few questions.”

“Yes?”

“Did your husband often discuss his work with you?”

Diane shook her head. “Not really. It was a separate part of our life together because it was so technical.”

In the surveillance room down the hall, Retra Tyler had turned on a voice recognition machine, a voice stress analyzer, and a television recorder, and was taping the scene taking place in Tanner’s office.

“I know how difficult it must be for you to discuss this,” Tanner said, “but how much do you know about your husband’s connection with drugs?”

Diane was staring at him, too dumbfounded to speak. Finally, she found her voice. “What—what are you asking? Richard never would have had anything to do with drugs.”

“Mrs. Stevens, the police found a threatening note from the Mafia in his pocket, and—”

The idea of Richard being involved with drugs was unthinkable. Could Richard have had a secret life that she knew nothing about?
No, no, no.

Diane’s heart began to pound, and she felt the blood rushing to her face.
They killed him to punish me
. “Mr. Kingsley, Richard didn’t—”

Tanner’s tone was sympathetic, but at the same time determined. “I’m so sorry to put you through this, but I fully intend to get to the bottom of what happened to your husband.”

I’m the bottom,
Diane thought, miserably.
I’m the one you’re looking
for. Richard died because I testified against Altieri.
She was beginning to hyperventilate.

Tanner Kingsley was watching her. He said, “I won’t keep you, Mrs. Stevens. I can see how upset you are. We’ll talk again later. Perhaps there’s something you’ll remember. If you think of anything that might be helpful, I would appreciate it if you would call me.” Tanner reached into a drawer and pulled out an embossed business card. “This has my private cell phone number on it. You can reach me day or night.”

Diane took the card. All that was on it was Tanner’s name and a number.

Diane rose, her legs trembling.

“I apologize for having to put you through this. In the meantime, if there is anything that I can do for you—anything you need, I am at your service.”

Diane was barely able to speak. “Thank you. I—thank you.” She turned and walked out of the office, numb.

As Diane reached the reception room, she heard the woman behind the desk speaking to someone else. “If I were a superstitious person, I would think someone had put a curse on KIG. And now
your
husband, Mrs. Harris. We were all so shocked to hear about the dreadful thing that happened to him. To die like that is just awful.”

The words sounded ominously familiar to Diane. What had happened to the woman’s husband? Diane turned to see whom the receptionist was addressing. It was a stunning-looking, young African-American woman, dressed in black slacks and a silk turtleneck sweater. On her finger was a large emerald ring and a diamond wedding ring. Diane had a sudden feeling that it was important that she speak to her.

As Diane started to approach her, Tanner’s secretary came in. “Mr. Kingsley will see you now.”

And Diane watched Kelly Harris disappear into Tanner’s office.

T
ANNER ROSE TO
greet Kelly. “Thank you for coming, Mrs. Harris. Did you have a satisfactory flight?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Would you like anything? Coffee or—?”

Kelly shook her head.

“I know what a difficult time this must be for you, Mrs. Harris, but I need to ask you a few questions.”

In the surveillance room, Retra Tyler was watching Kelly on the television set and recording the scene.

“Did you and your husband have a close relationship?” Tanner asked.

“Very close.”

“Would you say that he was honest with you?”

Kelly looked at him, puzzled. “We had no secrets. Mark was the most honest, open, human being I’ve ever known. He—” Kelly was finding it difficult to go on.

“Did he often discuss his work with you?”

“No. What Mark did was very—complicated. We didn’t talk much about it.”

“Did you and Mark have many Russian friends?”

Kelly looked at him, confused. “Mr. Kingsley, I don’t know what these questions—”

“Did your husband tell you he had a big deal coming up and that he was going to make a lot of money?”

Kelly was getting upset. “No. If that were so, Mark would have told me.”

“Did Mark ever discuss Olga?”

Kelly was filled with a sudden foreboding. “Mr. Kingsley, exactly what is this all about?”

“The Paris police found a note in your husband’s pocket. It mentioned a reward for some information and was signed ‘Love, Olga.’ ”

Kelly sat there, stunned. “I—I don’t know what—”

“But you did say he discussed everything with you?”

“Yes, but—”

“From what we have been able to learn, your husband was apparently involved with this woman and—”

“No!” Kelly was on her feet. “This isn’t my Mark we’re talking about. I told you, we had no secrets between us.”

“Except whatever secret it was that caused your husband’s death.”

Kelly felt suddenly faint. “You’ll—you’ll have to excuse me, Mr. Kingsley. I’m not feeling well.”

He was instantly apologetic. “I understand. I want to help you in any way I can.” Tanner handed her his embossed business card. “You can reach me through this number at any time, Mrs. Harris.”

Kelly nodded, unable to speak, and blindly walked out of the office.

K
ELLY’S MIND WAS
churning as she exited the building.
Who was Olga? And why had Mark been involved with Russians? Why would he—?

“Excuse me. Mrs. Harris?”

Kelly turned. “Yes?”

An attractive blonde woman was standing outside the building. “My name is Diane Stevens. I’d like to talk to you. There’s a coffee shop across the way and we—”

“Sorry. I—I can’t talk now.” Kelly started to move on.

“It’s about your husband.”

Kelly stopped abruptly and turned. “Mark? What about him?”

“Can we talk where it’s more private?”

I
N TANNER’S OFFICE,
his secretary’s voice came over the intercom. “Mr. Higholt is here.”

“Send him in.”

A moment later, Tanner was greeting him. “Good afternoon, John.”

“Good? It’s a
hell
of an afternoon, Tanner. It seems that everyone in our company is being murdered. What the devil is going on?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out. I don’t believe the sudden deaths of three of our employees are a coincidence. Someone is out to damage the reputation of this company, but they’re going to be found and stopped. The police have agreed to cooperate with us, and I have men tracing the movements of the employees who were killed. I would like you to listen to two interviews that I’ve just recorded. These are the widows of Richard Stevens and Mark Harris. Are you ready?”

“Go ahead.”

“This is Diane Stevens.” Tanner pressed a button and his interview with Diane Stevens appeared on the screen. At the right-hand corner of the screen was a graph, tracing lines up and down as Diane spoke.

How much do you know about your husband’s connection with drugs?

What—what are you asking? Richard never would have had anything to do with drugs.

The graphic images remained steady.

Tanner pressed the fast-forward button. “This is Mrs. Mark Harris, whose husband was pushed or fell from the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

A picture of Kelly flashed on the television screen.

Did Mark ever discuss Olga?

Mr. Kingsley, exactly what is this all about?

The Paris police found a note in your husband’s pocket. It mentioned a reward for some information and was signed “Love, Olga.”

I—I don’t know what—

But you did say he discussed everything with you?

Yes, but—

From what we have been able to learn, your husband was apparently involved with this woman and—

No! This isn’t my Mark we’re talking about. I told you, we had no secrets between us.

The lines on the voice stress analyzer graph remained even. Kelly’s image disappeared.

“What was that line on the screen?” John Higholt asked.

“That’s a voice stress analyzer, a CVSA. It registers microtremors in the human voice. If the subject is lying, the modulations of the audio frequencies increase. It’s state of the art. It doesn’t require wires, like a polygraph. I’m convinced that both women told the truth. They must be protected.”

John Higholt frowned. “What do you mean? Protected from what?”

“I think they’re in danger, that subconsciously, they have more information than they realize. They were both close to their husbands. I’m convinced that at some point, something revealing might have been said that slipped by them at the time, but is in their memory banks. The chances are that as they start to think about it, they’re going to remember what it was. The moment they do, their lives could be at risk, because whoever killed their husbands could be planning to kill them. I intend to see that no harm comes to them.”

“You’re going to have them followed?”

“That was yesterday, John. Today it’s electronic equipment. I’ve put the Stevens apartment under surveillance—cameras, telephones, microphones—everything. We’re using every bit of technology at our
disposal to guard them. The moment anyone tries to attack her, we’ll know.”