The Front (18 page)

“My father had accounts in London, Los Angeles, New York, Paris, Switzerland. How else do you move large sums of cash if not by wire transfers? Most people don't use suitcases. And paying cash for clothing, for automobiles, is what I've always done. Never buy things on credit that begin to depreciate the minute you leave the store. As for the house on Brattle? In this dreadful market, I got it for a song compared to what it will be worth after I fix it up—if and when the day ever comes that our economy recovers. I didn't need a mortgage for deductions, and I really don't care to discuss the nuances of my financial portfolio with you.”

“In point of fact. You moved huge amounts of money. Made huge purchases in cash. Went on a spending spree the likes of which I've never seen with you, and I've known you for a fairly long time. Donated to charities you didn't check out. Then you get involved with . . .”

“No names.” She holds up her hand.

“Certainly convenient to own a house you don't live in and isn't in your name,” Win says. “Good place to have a meeting or two. Or three or four. Bad idea to have such meetings at the Ritz. Or a house where the neighbors know you and maybe watch you out their windows. Not good to have meetings in college housing.” Drinks his wine. “With a college kid.” Holds up his glass. “This is pretty good.”

She looks away from him. “What's going to come out in court?”

“Hard to imagine he's a juvenile. I wouldn't have guessed.”

“He lied.”

“You didn't check.”

“Why would I?”

“You ever notice needle marks on his hands, speaking of not checking things? Fingertips, palms.”

“Yes.”

“You ask him?”

“Botox injections so his hands wouldn't sweat,” she says. “His father's a plastic surgeon. You know that. Started giving them to him when he was performing. You know, piano recitals. So his fingers didn't slip on the keys. Now he continues the Botox because he plays keyboard, is used to it.”

“And you believed that.”

“Why wouldn't I?”

“I suppose,” Win says. “Can't say it would enter my mind, either. Unless I were already suspicious of the person. Not to mention, I've never heard of anybody doing that. Botox in their fingertips. Must hurt like hell.”

“Wouldn't be foolproof,” Lamont says.

“Nothing is. But you walk into a bank, shove a note under the glass, and your hands are clean and dry. No prints on paper.”

“Good luck proving all this.”

“We have his copper print, for lack of a better thing to call it. On the camera box he stupidly left in the kitchen of your new-old house. Don't worry. He's going to be locked up for quite some time,” Win says.

“What's going to happen?”

“I don't understand your question,” he says.

She gives him her eyes. “Of course you do.”

The waiter wanders toward them, picks up her signal, and retreats.

“He's a pathological liar,” Win says. “The one time there was a meeting that was witnessed by others? Well, not only was he not there but the witnesses are aware of a sting operation that explains various electronic communications that frankly the Feds and others might prefer the public didn't know about. Since the Patriot Act is about as popular as the bubonic plague.”

“You were there before,” she says. “At the house. And saw me return to my car. And what I was carrying. And all the rest.”

“No evidence of that, and I never saw him that night. I will say, however, I don't appreciate someone wearing my skin. Part of the thrill. Stealing my stuff . . .”

“Setting you up?”

“No. Stealing me. Psychological,” Win says. “Probably goes back to what his mother said about me when they were apartment shopping, which had to make him feel more inadequate and resentful than he already felt. Anyway. I guess in his own way, he put on my skin, walked around in my shoes. Overpowered me in his own weirdo way. You didn't drink the wine he stole from me.”

“Wasn't in the mood,” she says, giving him her eyes again. “Wasn't in the mood for any of it, to tell the truth. Had gotten out of the mood rather quickly, which didn't set well, if you understand what I mean.”

“Boy toy gets boring.”

“I would prefer you not make comments like that.”

“So on that occasion, the one I sort of witnessed, things didn't go well. When I saw you leave the courthouse, you seemed to be arguing. Were on your cell phone. You seemed upset, and I followed you.”

“Yes, arguing. I didn't want to go there. To the house. He was persuasive. Had things on me. Made it difficult for me to refuse. I'll be candid for a moment and tell you I didn't know how I was going to get out of it. And further, I have no idea how I got into it to begin with.”

“I'll be candid for a moment and tell you how it all happened. In my opinion,” he says. “When we feel powerless, we do things that make us feel powerful. Our appearance. Our clothing. Our homes. Our cars. Pay cash. Do whatever we can to feel desirable. Sexy. Including, well, maybe even exhibitionism.” He pauses. “Let me guess. He made those YouTube videos. But it wasn't his idea, it was yours. One more thing he had on you.”

Her silence is her answer.

“Got to give it to you, Monique. I think you're the shrewdest human being I've ever met.”

She drinks her wine. “What if he says something about it. To the police. Or worse, in court,” Lamont says.

“You mean airs your dirty laundry, so to speak? Which you were smart enough not to leave at the scene after your . . . ?”

“If he says something about anything,” she interrupts.

“He's a liar.” Win shrugs.

“It's true. He is.”

“The other thing when we feel powerless?” Win says. “We pick someone safe.”

“Obviously not so. This was anything but safe.”

“Want to feel desirable but safe,” Win says. “The older, powerful woman. Adored but safe, because she's in control. What could be safer than a bright, artistic boy who follows you like a puppy.”

“Do you think Stump's safe?” Lamont says, nodding at the waiter.

“By which you're implying . . . ?”

“I think you know what I'm implying.”

She'll have greens with vinaigrette, and a double order of tuna carpaccio with wasabi. He orders his usual steak. A salad. No potato.

“We're close friends,” Win says. “Work and play well with each other.”

It's obvious Lamont wants to know two things but can't bring herself to ask. Is he in love with Stump, and did she tell him what happened long years ago when Lamont got drunk in Watertown?

“Let me ask again,” Lamont says. “Is she safe?”

“Let me tell you again. We're close friends. I feel perfectly safe. How about you?”

“I expect you back in the unit on Monday,” Lamont says. “So I'm not sure how much you'll be working with her anymore. Unless, of course, there's a homicide and she rolls up in that rather ridiculous truck. Which brings me to one last point. The organization she started.”

“The FRONT.”

“What should we do about it?”

“I don't think there's anything we can do about it,” Win says. “It's moved in like a front, rather much living up to its name. You're not going to get rid of it.”

“I wasn't suggesting any such thing,” Lamont says. “I was wondering what we might do to help. If that would please her.”

“Please Stump?”

“Yes, her. Keep her happy. And safe.”

“If I were you, I would,” Win says. “Safe to say, that would be a smart thing to do.”