The Trophy Wife (24 page)

That's what the cop next to her was doing right now, Angela assured herself. She could almost hear the rusty, castiron gears turning in his brain. Snotty broad thinks she can frighten me with this bullshit about me getting arrested. She thinks she can just wiggle her ass and walk away from a capital offense. Boy, would I like to show her a thing or two.

Then he'd peek down at the inside of her thigh, imagine her breathless under his weight, and reassure himself that he was still in charge. What a complete, absolute nerd! Running roughshod over guys like him was almost too easy to be called a contest. She turned suddenly in his direction, catching him momentarily with his eyes in her lap.

“Be a good boy and order me another drink,” Angela said. Then she tugged her hem down a bit, just to let him know that she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Walter closed his door and turned his chair to face the computer. He keyed in his password and the machine answered
with his clearance. He could look into any file on the InterBank network and execute any transaction that wasn't in violation of banking laws. Only five people at InterBank had total access and Walter was one of them.

He clicked onto the menu and then onto the first entry, account access. A matrix appeared asking him the number of the account and then for a repeat of his password. He spent the next few minutes checking into each of the accounts he had created and found no surprises in the amounts. They were all exactly as he left them. None of them had any indicated activity—they had not been called up by anyone for any reason. That meant that Mitchell Price's auditors hadn't located them yet.

Walter typed in the number of the account that had been set up in the Caymans. As he expected, the words
access denied
flashed in the center of the screen. It was a private account, one of a list of accounts belonging to drag dealers, dictators, and politicians who didn't want anyone browsing through their affairs. But the fact that it was still listed meant that no one had yet closed it. It could still accept Emily's ransom and then make the money disappear.

His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Andrew Hogan's spooks probably wouldn't be watching. They already knew the identity of the kidnapper. Or at least, they assumed that the woman they held in custody would provide the link to the kidnapper. As far as they were concerned, the case was closed.

He designated the target account at Folonari's Cayman Island branch and was about to list the accounts to be transferred, when a new warning flashed across his monitor:
Access limited. Account under surveillance.
His fingers jumped off the keyboard as if he had touched a hot griddle.

“Son of a bitch!” he snapped softly. Then his fist exploded against the edge of his desk. “Son of a bitch!” Hogan was using his authority to keep a security watch on the account. In theory, Walter could get into it, but couldn't do anything with it. And with Folonari's guarantee of secrecy, he couldn't even look into it. He was dead in the water. “Son of a bitch!”

* * *

Angela Hilliard was relaxed to the point of boredom when she was escorted into Walter Childs's office. Andrew Hogan led the procession, walking directly in front of her, and the two agents who had escorted her back from the Caymans flanked her. Helen Restivo was holding up the rear.

“Angela,” Walter whispered, coming around his desk to greet her. But none of the men moved aside and Angela, who stood in their midst, seemed completely indifferent to Walter's affections. Hogan pointed her to one of the chairs in Walter's lounge area and then sat on the sofa, directly across from her, so that their legs were almost touching. The others arranged themselves around her, leaving Walter to drag one of his side chairs over and take a seat near Angela's shoulder.

“Walter, do you know these idiots?”

He looked around and realized that he didn't “No, I'm afraid I don't.”

Hogan started his introductions, beginning with Helen, but Angela rode right over him. “I'm glad you don't, because they're all going to be spending the next few years in court, if not in prison.”

“You know why we're here,” Hogan told her.

Angela ignored him, keeping her attention focused on Walter. “There are two things you can do for me. First, go to your desk and call the police. Tell them that I'm being held against my will. Then call the most expensive tort lawyer you know. You can tell him these bumbling fools are going to be paying me a lot of money and there will be plenty to cover his fees.”

Walter looked uncertainly from Angela to Andrew. “You can't just … hold her,” he tried.

Andrew kept after Angela. “Miss Hilliard, what were you doing in the Cayman Islands, across the street from the bank where Mrs. Childs's ransom was being paid?”

“Walter, will you please make those telephone calls for me?” She wasn't budging at all from her role as the outraged woman.

“They're trying to help us find Emily.” He was begging her to understand his predicament.

“And you think I know anything about what happened to her?”

“Oh, Jesus, no. But you may be able to help us. Something you saw, or something you might have heard.”

She turned to Hogan. “I saw nothing, nor did I hear anything relevant to Mrs. Childs's situation. I hope that concludes this meeting.” She tried to stand, but Hogan leaned forward and blocked her escape.

“You know she's been kidnapped,” the security officer said.

“Yes. Walter told me. And he knows he has my complete sympathy.”

“And you knew how he was supposed to pay the ransom?”

“He told me. And I urged him, for Emily's sake, not to let you and your Boy Scouts fuck everything up. Which, apparently, you have already done.”

“You went there to pick up the money,” Hogan pressed on.

She shook her head in exasperation. “I'm going to get up now and I'm going to walk out the door. The only way you're going to going to stop me is by knocking me down. I think that's called a felony.” She stood up, but Hogan stood with her so that they were face-to-face. “You better tell him, Walter, what the headlines are going to do to your tenuous grip on the presidency. ‘Banker's Mistress Assaulted in InterBank Executive Suite.' ”

“Please, Angela. Answer his question. What were you doing in the Caymans?”

She froze him with a glance. “I feel very sorry for you, Walter. You just made the worst decision of your life.”

She pushed past Hogan and stepped out of the circle toward the office door. Walter jumped to his feet and took command. “Will you all step outside, please. I'd like to have a word alone with Miss Hilliard.”

Angela stopped with her hand on the knob. Helen and her agents looked up at Andrew Hogan for their instructions.
“Let's wait outside,” Hogan decided. They rose reluctantly and filed past Angela. But Hogan closed the door behind them, turned, and leaned his back against it.

“Please, Andrew,” Walter Childs asked.

Hogan shook his head. “I can't do that, Walter. You two have a … relationship. And the fact is that you're both suspects. I can't give you an opportunity to coordinate your stories.”

“Jesus,” Angela said in despair. She reached around Hogan for the doorknob and then looked back to Walter when the security officer wouldn't budge.

“We're trying to save Emily's life,” Walter pleaded, “if she's not dead already.”

Angela considered for a moment. “You're right, of course,” she said to Walter. Then she stepped quickly to the sofa and sat in the chair she had just left. This time, Hogan sat a decent distance away from her and Walter perched on the very edge of his chair.

“We're all in agreement that Emily's kidnapping involved insiders,” she began, “people well placed in the bank and familiar with its operating procedures.”

“Yes, of course,” Walter acknowledged. He looked at Hogan for confirmation, but the detective's expression was professionally noncommittal.

“You do agree with that, don't you, Mr. Hogan?” Angela persisted. Hogan reluctantly allowed that it was a strong possibility. “Then which one of your operatives was going to identify the person from InterBank? Did any of them even know anyone from InterBank? Any of the senior officers or the key people on their staffs?”

Hogan kept staring. She was right. Helen's hired hands wouldn't have been able to identify anyone from the bank who showed up to claim the ransom.

“That's why I went to Grand Cayman,” Angela told him. Then she looked over at Walter. “You told me when you were supposed to send the ransom and how it was going to be handled. I knew you'd pay it. You'd never take a chance with Emily's life. And I knew that the only way you would survive
here would be if you could show Mr. Hollcroft who the real thief was.” She turned back to Hogan. “Someone from InterBank was down there. Probably waiting at the airport for the couriers to make their delivery. And I would have spotted him, if you're people hadn't screwed everything up.”

Hogan shook his head slowly. “I've got to hand it to you, Miss Hilliard. You've got balls. We catch you red-handed at the scene and you blame the people who caught you.”

“Those idiots couldn't catch the runs in Mexico,” she fired back. “First, they couldn't have been more obvious if they were dressed like Batman. I spotted them and I'm not exactly Scotland Yard. Then, they blew whatever cover they might have had by barging through pedestrian traffic to arrest me. Next, they let themselves be suckered into driving right past the airport where the person they were supposed to find was probably waiting.”

Andrew was turning red from the description of the operation. “They found the person they were supposed to find,” she interjected.

Walter came to Angela's defense. “She does have a point, Andrew. You said yourself that the couriers were supposed to deliver the money to the airport.”

“For the love of God, Walter, don't side with her. She knows where Emily is.”

“I don't,” Angela said, “but I think that maybe your investigators do. It's hard to believe that they could have screwed up that badly if they weren't trying.”

“Where is Mrs. Childs?” Andrew kept pressing.

Angela looked back and forth. Then she stood quickly. “I'm very tired. It's been a bitch of a day.” She fixed on Hogan. “I'm going home now.” And then she said to Walter, “I'm truly sorry about all this. You know I want to help you in any way I can. You have my address and phone number. Your friend Hercule Poirot, here, ought to be able to find me.”

They all sat speechless and watched her walk out of the office.

“She couldn't be involved in this,” Childs finally assured Hogan. “I know her. She couldn't do anything like this.”

“Walter, think with your head instead of your pecker. You don't really believe that she went down there to catch the kidnapper, do you?”

“I know she'd do anything to help me.”

“She's not helping you. She's helping herself. Dammit it, Walter, I've been a cop all my life. I know when someone is lying. Your lady friend went down there to collect the hundred million. She knows where your wife is.”

Helen didn't agree with Andrew Hogan. She had listened patiently as Hogan repeated the conversation that had been held in Childs's office after Helen and her men had departed. Then she announced, “Of course she's lying. Her story about going down there to identify the kidnapper is pure horseshit. Something that she made up on the plane. But I don't think it follows that she's involved.”

“What other explanation is there?” Hogan demanded.

“I don't know. But she doesn't have a motive. Why would she be part of a scheme to kidnap Emily Childs?”

“How about a hundred million bucks. Isn't that motive enough?”

“Not for this young lady,” Helen instantly answered. “She has the next president of InterBank wrapped around her finger. Prestige. Power. Money. Even after Emily Childs leaves with half the property and a life's worth of alimony, there's still going to be more money than Angela Hilliard can ever spend. It would be stupid of her to risk all that for money that will come to her eventually. And one thing this young lady isn't is stupid.”

“Well, if it isn't her, then who in hell is it?” Hogan's question was more an explosion of frustration than a serious inquiry, but Helen answered thoughtfully.

“That's what doesn't make sense. There are no motives. No one has anything to gain.”

Hogan returned a blank stare.

“Well, think about it,” she went on. “Why would Walter Childs have his wife kidnapped? He's got his fortune. He has his trophy wife. He's got a big-time job. So he's going to
have to give up his house—he'll buy another. And he's going to have to pay serious alimony—he can afford it. To him, it's a simple financial transaction. He pays top dollar for a brand-new wife who's worth top dollar. It's just like trading in his BMW for this year's model. No big deal.”

“You said he was ambitious,” Hogan corrected, reminding his friend that she had once thought that Walter might use the kidnapping to assure his rise to the presidency.

“Yeah, but that only works if he goes to the board and makes a big show of sacrificing his wife rather than robbing the bank. Childs is trying to pay the ransom, which isn't going to raise his stock with the directors.”

Andrew nodded in despair. Then he asked, “What about the tennis jock?”

Helen shrugged. “He's hard to figure. Amanda is right about her mother paying him regularly and Emily did send a note with her last check saying that she wasn't going to need any more lessons. But is that a motive? It's not like she was going to turn him in. He had nothing to fear from her and he still was collecting overtime from all those would-be Steffi Grafs.”