The Morning Show Murders (1) (37 page)

Lee filled Trina's cup, then raised her own. "To a successful tour," she said, and we toasted Aharon.

Trina scanned the room and frowned. "Shouldn't there be people guarding Goyal, Lee?"

"I am here. Others will be joining us shortly."

"Good. Then I guess we should get to it," Trina said, reaching for her briefcase. "I have something I hope we can agree ..."

She seemed surprised when Lee grabbed the briefcase from her hands, opened it, and dumped its contents on the empty section of the coffee table.

"What the hell, Lee?" Trina said as printed sheets of paper, photographs, creased little notepads, and other bits of reporter paraphernalia flopped and fluttered to the table, some of them sliding to the carpet.

Lee looked inside the briefcase and, evidently satisfied that it was empty, tossed it aside.

"What's going on?" Trina asked, looking at Aharon and me for answers.

"Tell her, Lee," Aharon said.

"Just wanted to make sure you were not carrying something ... lethal."

"What are you talking about?" Trina asked, starting to rise. "What's going on here?"

Lee removed a .44 Magnum from her handbag. "Sit down, Trina. Before you fall down."

"What's with the gun, Lee?" Trina asked.

Lee pointed the .44 at Trina's midsection. "Sit. Down," she demanded.

Trina obeyed. Once seated again, she blinked her eyes and gave her head a shake.

"Who has paid you to kill me, Trina?" Aharon said.

"Is everyone here crazy?" Trina asked.

Aharon looked at me. "I expected something more," he said, "considering Felix's reputation."

"Beware what you ask for," I said, looking at Lee.

She rewarded me with a smile of delight. "Oh, chef dear, you recognized my weapon."

"All of them," I said, "including the gun in your hand, which used to be in my office."

"A gift to me from Teddy. He found it the evening he left the napkin drawing for you."

"Considering how lame he was at the hospital," I said, "I'm surprised he fooled me so completely with his drunk act."

"I am now confused, too, Lee," Aharon said. "What is happening here?"

Lee ignored him, continuing to address me. "Does your devious mind tell you why I have your revolver?"

"I suppose it's because you're going to shoot these two people and blame it on me."

"Not at all. But you will be playing a big part."

"Why me? What did I do to get involved in all this?"

"Don't play coy," Lee said. "It's because you caused me so much trouble."

"How did I do that?"

"You killed Rudy Gallagher."

I was momentarily stymied. "Why would you think that? Even the detective assigned to the case is having doubts."

"Then he is a fool. Gallagher took your woman, though I personally feel you are well rid of her, and he was about to destroy your career. Of course you killed him. But, unfortunately, he was in possession of an audio file that a smart investigator, or an obsessed journalist"--she bowed her head to Trina--"might use to endanger Felix's anonymity. A purchase had been arranged with Gallagher. But you murdered him before that came to pass. And the file is still out there somewhere. Such trouble you have caused."

"I didn't kill Gallagher," I said.

Trina made a little strangled cry and suddenly fell forward onto the carpet.

"One down," Lee said, shifting her position to cover both Aharon and me with the gun.

He stood and reached for the weapon. But his reflexes were slow and Lee merely rose from the love seat and took a step backward. Aharon tried to follow, but his leg gave out and he fell very close to Trina. They both lay motionless on the carpet.

"My own little teapot brew," Lee said.

"Is it fatal?"

"No. Basically a variety of flunitrazepam--what you Americans call a roofie--but with a special something that will keep them awake so that they will see the bullet coming. And the drug will be out of their systems long before your overworked forensics people will find time to examine them.

"And how are you feeling, chef dear? A little off the mark?"

"I feel ... fine," I said, blinking a little.

She looked at Trina's scattered papers. "I'd love to read those, to see how close she's come. I know for a fact she was snooping around Baghdad for information about the death of Di Voss's son. I think that's why she went to work at your network, for more background."

"Did you kill him?" I asked Lee.

"Plastique attached to a vehicle's undercarriage. To the geniuses trying to cope with the violence in Iraq, there is no difference between that and a road mine. Almost too easy."

"Who ... hired you?" I asked, as the teacup fell from my fingers to the carpet, spilling its contents.

"What difference does it make? Dead is dead."

"Lee is ... nickname, right? For Felice. Close enough to Felix."

"Lee, Felice, Felix. They are all of my own creation. As is Franchette. That one may be too literary for you, chef. It's a tribute to Colette's favorite feline."

"How many ... have you killed?"

"Not so many," Lee answered. "Nine, actually, including Lieutenant Di Voss. Teddy killed four, including that oaf Gault, who'd become something of a burden. Teddy was a talented amateur but needed supervision."

"Who ... hired you to kill Di Voss?" I asked again.

"That is of no consequence," she said, "since, in a little while, Felix will be no more. The thing about enigmas is that almost anyone can be made to fit the image. As you once suggested, Trina is an excellent choice." She reached into her handbag and removed an ugly serrated knife. "She will have the double satisfaction of using this, the same weapon that Felix has employed in the past, on the Mossad thug and you, chef dear. But before you die, you will, with your last strength, shoot her."

"And what happens ... to you?" I asked.

"I drink a lot of that tea and fall unconscious at the same moment the security guards across the hall, alarmed by the gunfire, break down the door."

"It will take ... perfect timing," I said, just before my head fell forward.

My eyes were open. I could see her walking around the table to stand before me. She placed a hand under my chin and lifted my head. She leaned forward and kissed my motionless lips. Then she straightened and took a step toward the coffee table.

She placed my gun on the table, then, knife in hand, stepped over Aharon. She prodded his body with one pointed toe, rolling it so that he was lying on his back. She raised the knife. ...

And I cleared my throat.

She turned swiftly and reached for the gun she'd placed on the coffee table.

It was no longer there.

It was in my hand, aimed at her lovely chest. "I spent a year at Gidleigh Park in Devon, working in Michael Caines's kitchen," I said, "but I never developed a taste for tea."

She smiled and shifted her hold on the knife.

"Put the knife on the table," I told her. She hesitated. "You're too smart to bring a knife to a gunfight."

She placed the knife on the table.

"Now what? You still have no proof. I can claim you were Felix, partnering with Teddy."

"What about them?" I indicated the narcotized couple. "I think they might just back me."

"They've been drugged. Unreliable. In the end, chef dear, it will be your word against mine. The word of a murder suspect against the word of a respected executive of an international security agency."

I didn't buy any of that, but it didn't really matter. I undid the buttons of my shirt and showed her the transmitter taped to my chest.

She sighed and said, "So Felix will not be dying today after all."

"Nobody will," I said. "Time to come in, A.W."

Lee continued to smile at me as we heard the click of the suite door unlocking.

A.W. entered the room, followed by the other InterTec agents, all with guns drawn. "Well, Billy," he said, "that was some show."

One of the agents knelt beside Aharon and Trina to check their vital signs. A.W. holstered his weapon and removed a set of cuffs from his coat pocket.

Lee put out her hands, but A.W. reminded her that company policy required behind-the-back cuffing.

While that was being accomplished, she continued to look at me. "Would it not be amusing, chef dear, if they find you guilty of murder and we wind up in the same prison?"

"I didn't kill Rudy Gallagher," I said.

"That makes two of us," she said.

"Here's to Chef Billy Blessing," Detective Hawkline said, rising for the toast, "for helping us close at least three murder books."

We were in my favorite of the Bistro's private dining rooms, brightly lit by crystal chandeliers, with framed mirrors nearly covering the walls, a decor influenced by a stint I served at Galatoire's in New Orleans. Two long tables, each running nearly the length of the room, had been joined in a U shape. Being of a humble nature, I'd elected to sit at the bottom of the U or the top of the table, depending on your point of view.

I'd planned the dinner to begin at eight, a multicourse affair built around haunches of venison soaked for twenty-four hours in a marinade of burgundy, brandy, and olive oil, crushed peppercorns, bay leaves, and cloves, and cooked for five hours.

We were, by and large, a cheery crowd, made even more so by predinner cocktails and wine. Gretchen and the commander were there, of course. And Marvin, whom I hardly recognized in a suit instead of his warm-up clothes, and his considerably younger wife, Celia. Trina, Arnie, and the on-camera team from
Wake Up, America!
were present, with the exceptions of Gin McCauley, who was still blissing out in Bermuda, and the boy-wonder movie critic Chuck
Slater, who'd broken his leg that morning racing to work on his motorcycle.

Kiki arrived with a new beau, a junior executive with the wholesaler that distributes our sponsor, The Daily Brew coffee. He didn't strike me as the kind of guy who'd steal her iPod, which could mean that their romance would be short-lived. My coproducer Lily Conover stepped into the room, took one look at Detective Hawkline, and said, "Billy, what a literary coup. A dinner party with Gertrude Stein."

Goyal and A.W., who was now responsible for
his
security, showed up a little late. The new author had been flogging his book on the Stephen Colbert show, an experience he found so perplexing he demanded an immediate shot of Gold vodka to clear his head.

The only two participants not totally enjoying the evening were the NYPD's finest, Solomon and Butker. Like Detective Hawkline, they'd been a bit miffed when they heard the full story of the kidnapping. But Hawkline more or less forgave the cover-up. Her investigation into the murders of both Gault and Parkhurst had been successfully closed by Lee's arrest. On the other hand, Lee was continuing to claim neither she nor Ted had poisoned Rudy Gallagher, which meant that Solomon and Butker were still stuck with an open case.

"Not that I don't appreciate a good feed, Blessing," Solomon said when he and Butker arrived, "but I'm not sure why you insisted we show up here tonight. As suspects go, you're not quite in the same league with this Franchette woman. But until she gives up on Gallagher, it's probably inappropriate for us to be here."

"For tonight at least," I told him, "think of me as your host and not a murder suspect. Relax and enjoy the dinner. Please."

From the look they exchanged, I suspected it was less my plea than the promise of a free venison feast that convinced them to take their seats at the table next to Detective Hawkline.

As the dinner progressed in stages, presented by our waitress, Bridget Innes, and a phalanx of busboys, the conversation drifted to a variety of subjects. A remark about the balmy evening resulted in a much-more-information-than-needed response from
Wake Up!
'
s
resident meteorologist, Professor Lloyd Sebastian. Lance Tuttle chatted with Marvin about the never-ending disclosures of steroid use by many of our highly respected professional athletes. Marvin idly
wondered why there was so little time devoted to sporting events on the morning show. Lance, stumped for a reply, passed the question on to Gretchen, who suggested they "take a look at the demos and see who's watching."

Arnie emerged from his teen TV fanboy closet to engage Lily, an admitted fangirl, in a spirited discussion of the relative merits of
Gossip Girl
over the refurbished
Beverly Hills 90210
. Mrs. Marvin asked newswoman Tori Dillard if she was married and Tori replied, "Not exactly."

And so it went. But as might be expected, eventually the talk of the table turned to Lee. Tori said that while driving to the dinner she'd heard that the question of jurisdiction had been raised. Lee, or Felix, or whatever her real name would turn out to be, was suspected of having committed murders in many countries, and each wanted the pleasure of putting her on trial.

"The dreadful woman should be tried, convicted, and incarcerated right here where she was caught," the commander stated.

"I don't know," Trina said. "There are places in the Middle East where she'd be treated to a justice more appropriate to her crimes."

"We can tie her to at least three murders in this city," Detective Hawkline said. "My two and your former coworker, Mr. Bruno. That should be enough for us to hang on to her."

"What was it exactly that made you suspicious of her, Billy?" Gretchen asked.

"I have Detective Solomon to thank for that," I said, noting with amusement the surprise on his dour face, "and, not incidentally, for saving my life. Several hours before Lee planned to kill us, the detective and I had a chat. He used the term 'put on blinders.' That reminded me of something Lee said in the basement of the old mansion. She asked if I'd touched any of the materials the kidnappers had used to keep Gin McCauley bound, gagged, and sightless. She specifically mentioned 'sleep masks.' Later, Gin used the more general term 'blindfold.' I doubt she even knew she'd been wearing a sleep mask. And there was no possible way Lee could have known it at that particular moment, unless she'd been one of the kidnappers."