Suspicion of Betrayal (31 page)

Halfway down the driveway, Karen said, "You lied. I asked Jennifer and Lindsay if they ever heard of that stalker, and they said they didn't. You made it up. You don't want me to go out because you're afraid I'll do something with Payton. That's what Lindsay says." Her eyes were narrowed, and her mouth was a thin line—like her father's when he was angry.

"We'll talk about it later."

"Your red bra is showing right through your T-shirt! That is so embarrassing." She walked past Gail.

Gail touched her hair and found it still damp. "I— I ran out of the house so fast."

"You always embarrass me."

"I didn't know where you were." Gail's throat ached. "I couldn't find you." She leaned against the rock column.

Karen stared at her. "What's the matter? Mom? Don't cry!" She put thin arms around Gail's waist and held on. "Mommy, I didn't mean it. Please stop!"

"It's okay." Gail held Karen's face tightly and kissed her on both cheeks, then once on the lips. "I love you more than anything. Never, ever forget that."

Karen's chin wobbled. "I love you too, Mommy. I swear."

Arms around each other, they crossed the street. Gail decided that tonight, between dinner and story, she would tell Karen about the photographs. It would be even harder to explain why she couldn't go to Lindsay Cunningham's house anymore.

The green van was still in their driveway. Passing it, Gail made a mental note of the license plate, aware of how ridiculous it was to do so. She peered inside through the dirt-grimed side window. Tool chests. A broken chair. An old tire. Paint cans. Putting Karen behind her, she opened the front door. The house was cold as a wine cellar. Charlie Jenkins sat on a wooden chair by the arched entryway to the hall, hands on his thighs, feet spread.

"I was just about to go look for you." He stood up. "I'm all done."

"So. It was the air handler," Gail said.

"Sure was. When was the last time those coils were cleaned? I bet you don't know how." He walked toward the hall. "Come here, I'll show you."

"No. I'll see it later."

He was still pointing in that direction. "It only takes a minute."

"I'd rather not. How much do I owe you?" "Seventy-five dollars. Cash."

"Do you mind waiting outside? I'll be right back." She held the door.

His brows rose. "O-kay."

She locked the door, ran upstairs to take the money from her purse, then back down. She opened the door far enough to give him the money. "Thank you so much."

He looked at her strangely. "You have any trouble, give me a call."

"Yes. Thank you. I will." After she heard the engine crank up, she pulled the curtain aside and watched the van back out of the driveway.

She found Karen in the kitchen, holding a piece of sliced ham just over Missy's head. The little cat meowed and batted at it. "Oh, Karen, don't tease her." Gail took the rolled chicken breasts out of the refrigerator and put the pan into the oven. She cranked the temperature gauge to 325 degrees, lit a kitchen match, and stuck it into the hole where the pilot light would be, if it worked. The gas hissed. "Come on, come on." With a pop, blue flames spread out under the black metal plate at the bottom. Gail slammed the door.

"Mom, can I take Missy outside?" Karen nuzzled her nose in the white fur under the kitten's chin. "She has to pee."

"Put her in her litter box."

"She likes to go in the grass."

"Fine. Stay in the backyard." Gail went out on the terrace to make sure. "I mean it." Karen sat on a swing and spun around, twisting the chains. Missy was stalking a lizard. Gail called out, "Don't go anywhere."

"I
won't."

As Gail went back inside, the telephone started to ring. They had put caller-ID on every phone in the house, including the one on the wall in the kitchen. The screen said w. SWEET, but she recognized the number at Jamie's house.

Jamie was drunk. Not roaring drunk or falling-down drunk, or even giddy. It was a dark, lonely drunk, one that wants to sleep and never wake up, and had even thought of ways to do it, but Bobby knew how to call 911, and what if they got here too soon? And anyway, Jamie told Gail, the kids haven't had dinner yet.

Then she laughed.

They sat in the chaos of the living room, talking over the whir of the fan in the window. Jamie had turned off the air conditioner to save on the electric bill.

Gail said, "I'll be right back." She went out to the back porch, where Karen was keeping an eye on the three Sweet children. Gail had explained the situation in general terms: One of my clients is sick, and she needs to talk to me. Could you help with the kids? While Gail was changing clothes, Karen packed her backpack full of Beanie Babies, coloring books, and markers. They had been here fifteen minutes, and already Karen was organizing the construction of a house out of old cardboard boxes and duct tape. The older boy was taping, the girl was drawing a window, and the toddler went in and out the door.

"Karen, you want to see what there is in the kitchen to eat? It's after six o'clock. I'll bet they're hungry."

"Okay." She stood up and said to Becky, "While I'm gone, color some flowers on the side. Not yellow, it doesn't show up."

Gail had explained it more fully in her note to Anthony, which she had left on the kitchen table at home. Wendell had paid his wife another visit. She was threatening to kill herself. Gail had added a postscript.
Take the chicken out at six-thirty. I love you.

Arriving at the Sweet house determined to call the police regardless of what Jamie might say to the contrary, Gail had been surprised to find no bruises or blood. She had found the half-empty bottle of Southern Comfort that Jamie had been sipping all afternoon.

When Gail came back to the living room, she sat on the edge of the coffee table. "Jamie, I have to leave soon. Could you call the lady next door to come over?"

"Yeah. I'll call her. She said to, anytime. I'm sorry for draggin' you out here. I'm glad you came, though. Real glad." She pushed her fingers slowly through her hair, lifting it back from her face. Her hair was bright on the ivory-colored sofa.

"Are you sure you're all right now?"

Jamie smiled. Her lips were pale. "You want to know what Wendell did?"

Gail looked at her. "Tell me."

"He . . .made me do it with him. He said it would show me what I been missing." She laughed. "It wasn't near as good as I remember."

Barely able to speak, Gail whispered, "Oh, Jamie." She reached for her hand. "Let me call the police."

She shook her head. "I'm not hurt."

"Yes, you are."

Jamie suddenly put her hands over her face.

Gail said, "Where were the children?"

"In the playroom." The hands fell away. "They didn't see anything."

"Call the police. Please."

"No. He would say I wanted him to."

"But you didn't."

One side of Jamie's mouth rose. "I don't know. I don't know if I did or not. Isn't that weird? At first, I mean. And then ... I just wanted it to be over." She closed her eyes. "I want it all to be over, Gail. Please."

Harry Lasko owned—and after sentencing would lose to the U.S. government—a penthouse at the Seacoast Towers on Miami Beach. By the time the elevator opened in his foyer, the building was casting a long shadow across the sand.

Harry had just been for a swim, and he was still wearing a striped terry-cloth robe. His rubber sandals slapped on the marble floor as he led Gail and Karen into his apartment. Low sofas faced each other across a glass table. Windows were reflected in a mirrored wall, and the room seemed endless.

Gail had called Harry Lasko from the lobby downstairs, having obtained his address from Jamie. She had not, however, called Anthony to say she planned a detour before coming home.

Walking over to the hall, Harry called out, "Dorothy?"

A woman appeared in the tunic and heavy shoes of a nurse's assistant. Gail assumed she took care of Harry's wife, Edie.

"I think this young lady needs some cookies, maybe a little juice, whatever she wants. She can watch TV in the kitchen. How's that, Karen?" He patted her cheek. His inverted eyebrows canted at even more of an angle when he smiled. Karen thanked him and said she would rather draw, since she had brought her colored markers and some paper.

Declining a drink, Gail followed Harry across the living room. He slid open a door, and they went out on the terrace.

"That's a very bright girl," Harry said. His robe was loosely belted, revealing a brown, leathery chest, curly white hair, and a chain with a gold starfish.

"I hope you don't mind her coming along."

"Naah. I love kids. My grandkids are great. My son is an idiot, but what can you do?" He set his drink on a small plastic table between two chairs.

Gail leaned on the railing. Her hair blew back from her face. The sea was dark blue at a distance, paler at the shore, breaking into lace on the beach. The heat had let go, and dozens of people were out, tiny from this height.

"I'm gonna miss the view," Harry Lasko said.

She turned around. He had sat down and lit a cigarette. Age had thinned his calves, and a sandal dangled from his toe. The wind teased the thinning white hair on his sun-browned scalp. The lenses of his glasses had darkened only slightly here in the shade, and she could see through them.

"What do you need, Gail?"

"It's what Jamie needs. You said you wanted to help."

"Name it."

"Your records on the sale of the casino at Eagle Beach."

Still looking at her, Harry exhaled smoke, and the wind swept it away.

Gail said, "You and Wendell both participated in the sale. He won't give me any of his documents, but if you have Eagle Beach, at least I'll have something to go on."

"Have you talked to my lawyer?" Harry Lasko chuckled and reached for his drink. "Dumb question. If Quintana knew, you wouldn't be here."

"The records won't be filed in court," Gail said. "I won't tell Wendell I have them. I just want to
see
them."

"This divorce was supposed to be settled already. Jesus. I thought you could negotiate with Wendell's lawyer and get Jamie a decent settlement."

"I thought so too, but Wendell's trying to wear her down." Gail sat in the other chair. "We lost in court today. The judge is going to reduce Jamie's support if I can't prove Wendell can afford it. Jamie won't last, Harry. She's been drinking. She's so depressed I'm afraid of what she might do to herself. The children are what's keeping her going. She might go back to Wendell because she thinks she has no other way to take care of them, or because she's too tired to fight anymore."

"Tell her to forget Wendell. How much does she need for the kids? I can help her."

"Why should you? They're Wendell's kids. If he has the money, he should damn well support them."

Harry made a noncommittal noise and picked up his drink. He wasn't avoiding her, he was thinking, so Gail sat back in her chair and waited. Finally he said, "Gail, I can't do it. If this got to the feds ... Do you understand?"

It was on her lips to assure him again, to remind him that he was the only one who could help, that he had to . . . Gail nodded. "I understand." She watched the ocean for a while through the railing. "Maybe it's personal. I hate to lose. I was so angry at Wendell. I lost today, and I wanted so badly to win."

Harry pointed his cigarette at her. "In my business, you win if you can walk out with what you came in with." He picked up his drink, then put it down again. He shifted in his chair. "I don't have documents. Not like you see in a usual closing. It wasn't like that. It was memos, a handshake, and some wire transfers. Besides, our names don't appear anywhere, so even if I gave you everything I've got, it wouldn't help." He took a deep drag on his cigarette.

He was changing his mind. Afraid to push him too hard, Gail spoke quietly. "You could tell me what the memos mean, though. Couldn't you? And . . . explain how the money came in and where it went?" Gail remembered what Anthony had told her: Wendell Sweet and Harry Lasko had bought and sold the casino using a corporation registered in the Caymans, which in turn had hidden their names under layers of trusts. "And if there are any documents or trust agreements showing ownership . . ."

"What are you doing to me, sweetheart?" His laugh trailed off into a long sigh. "You could make sure Jamie gets everything here in the States?"

"I think so, yes, if I can follow the trail and find out where his money is."

"What the hell." Harry looked over at her, brows in a quizzical slant. "Should we tell my lawyer? It's up to you."

"He should know," Gail said. "Let me handle it."

Harry got up and leaned his elbows on the railing, smoothing his hair, looking out at the ocean. "That fucking Wendell."

Gail stood beside him.

"Guy like that ought to be taken care of. It would be no problem. I'm tempted."

"Don't do that, Harry."

He flipped his cigarette over the edge. "In life you don't get a lot of people you really click with. Four or five if you're lucky. People who, if you didn't see them for twenty years, and then bam, there they are, you could pick up the same conversation where you left off. My Edie was one of them. There was a guy I knew in Vegas, but he's gone now. Couple of friends still in the business. And Jamie. She's another one. She told me, Harry, when you get out, I'm gonna throw you a party like you never saw. And she will. She'll be there."

Gail smiled at him. "I think you're a little in love with her."

"Come on. She's a kid." Harry leaned his back against the railing, arms spread. "I still say it would be easier if you let me give her some money. Not all at once—that draws attention—but whenever she needs it."

"Keep it for yourself and Edie."

"I have enough, and there's somebody to take care of things while I'm away, so don't worry about whether she'd get it or she wouldn't."

Gail ventured to ask, "Who?"

He shrugged. "Someone I trust."

Meaning someone he trusted to manage a great deal of what was probably illegal cash maintained somewhere beyond the reach of U.S. authorities, and whose name he preferred not to reveal.