The Wrong Man: A Novel of Suspense (20 page)

She saw Kelman relax a little as soon as he had the door
locked behind them. But she didn’t let herself relax. She needed to be on guard, keep an eye on him.

“Anything to drink?” he asked.

“No, nothing.”

“Not even a cup of green tea?” he said with a faint smile. “I feel I should offer you that along with a bowl of edamame.”

She shook her head. He was trying to establish a rapport between them, but all she wanted was to get to the business at hand.

“Let’s sit down then,” he said, gesturing toward the sofa.

It was long and Japanese style, built low to the ground on a simple wooden platform. She took a seat at one end, and Kelman settled at the other one. Scanning the room quickly, she saw that there were no possessions in sight, nothing at least that seemed to belong to Kelman. She realized he’d probably stashed his belongings away in the bedroom, mindful of what had happened in Islamorada.

“You said you had something to show me,” she said.

“I do. I think it will help for you to see it. But tell me about your client first. I need to assess whether Ithaka was behind it.”

He listened intently as she gave him the broad outlines. That was all he was getting for now. A couple of times as she spoke, Kelman looked off, his eyes narrowed, as if he were trying to fit pieces together.

“Is it at all possible that someone your client knew actually killed her?” he asked when she finished. “Like an ex-boyfriend? Or a disgruntled employee?”

Kit shook her head dismissively. “She probably wasn’t a breeze to work for, but people seemed to respect her. And she told me she hadn’t dated anyone significant in at least six months.”

As she spoke, Kit felt something snag in her mind and then let go, like a sleeve caught momentarily on a piece of brush. What was it? she thought. But she couldn’t retrieve the thought.

“I’m just trying to cover every base,” he said.

“The base I need to cover right now is that there was no reason for anyone to show up at my building to kill Avery. But there does seem to be a motive for people to want
me
dead. In the dim light of the stairwell, Avery could have easily been mistaken for me.”

Kelman crossed his arms, exhaling.

“It does sound like you may have been the intended target,” he conceded. “And Ithaka could be responsible, just as they may be behind Healy’s death. As I told you, these cases don’t usually involve violence, but the conviction rates are high and they may want to guarantee it never comes to trial. Since they couldn’t find the flash drive at your place, plan B was to kill you.”

“And by now they must know that they killed the wrong person,” she said. “Will they try again?”

“I’ve no clue, Kit. I assume it’s possible. But it depends somewhat, I’d guess, on who the hell is doing this. If it’s one of the two traders—Kennelly or Lister—going rogue and killing people in a panic, they may realize that the more havoc they create, the greater the chance of it pointing to them. So they may decide it’s best to back off, at least for now. But if it’s some kind of hired killer, I doubt he’ll panic.”

“Oh, brilliant.” Without warning, she felt anger overtake her fear. She’d done nothing wrong, nothing at all, and yet people were coming after her. There was no way she was going to sit around like a total wimp waiting to see what their freaking plan
C
turned out to be.

“How do you know for sure that she was pushed?” Kelman asked. “The news items I read said it hadn’t been determined.”

“I’ve shared enough. I’d say it’s your turn now.”

“Fair enough.”

He hoisted himself off the couch, crossed the room, and slid open the shoji screen. There was an aspect to the gesture that seemed to be out of a movie. A door sliding open. A revelation about to occur. But could she believe it? she wondered.

As she’d expected, on the other side of the door was a bedroom, one as sparsely furnished as the living area—a simple dresser and a duvet-draped mattress on a low, wooden platform. Kelman opened a closet and from deep inside pulled out a black knapsack. He walked back to the couch and this time sat within inches of her. He unzipped the main area of the knapsack.

“Here,” he said, tugging out a sheaf of papers. “Let me take you through parts of this.”

He started with the spread sheet on top, a list, he said, showing trades made by Lister and Kennelly. He dragged his finger down, explaining their significance. There were also several printouts of news stories. They reported on the disappointing results of tests on a highly anticipated drug meant to treat leukemia. As she listened to Kelman talk, she had a glimpse again of the confident, self-assured man she’d met in Florida.

“You’ve got clear links to Lister and Kennelly,” Kit said. “What about Wainwright? Do you think he’s involved?”

He shook his head. “That’s what Healy was supposed to be digging into. My assumption is that Mitch
is
involved. As they say, a fish rots from the head down. At the very least, he must have been suspicious when he became aware of these trades and the killing the firm made. But that doesn’t mean he’s in legal danger himself. It’s getting harder and harder to prosecute someone too many steps removed from the action. But still, he’d want to protect the firm’s reputation, and make sure no one had a reason to incriminate him”

He took the pages from her and stuffed them back into the backpack. If it was all a sham, she thought, he’d gone to elaborate lengths to fool her. So maybe it
was
the truth.

“So is that one of the reasons you’re delaying going to the SEC?” she asked. “Because you’re still trying to find proof of Wainwright’s involvement?”

“No, I have no way of doing that anymore. It’ll be up to the
authorities. It’s what I told you the other night—I’ve switched strategies. The lawyer I’m working with has advised going to the U.S. Attorney’s office rather than the SEC. Things will move much faster that way.”

“There’s a financial incentive to going to the SEC, isn’t there? Does that hold true this way, too?

“No, but I don’t care. That’s not what this is about for me.”

Interesting, she thought

“So you’re going Friday?”

“Yup. At the latest Monday.”

“
Monday?
”

“Only if the right person isn’t available to meet with me on Friday.”

She rose from the couch and dragged her hands through her hair.

“I can’t believe this. It’s an ever-moving target. Every time I speak to you, you’re going on a different day.”

“Kit, I know it’s a very scary situation. But this is the smartest approach, for both of us. They’ll move against Ithaka more quickly.”

“It’s not just Ithaka that worries me. It’s the police. I’m withholding information from them.”

“You’re going to have to do your best to keep them at bay until Monday. And you’re also going to have to be extremely careful. For now, don’t leave the apartment you’re staying at. After this, we can speak by phone.”

His warning made her fear spike again. She glanced at her watch. It was almost ten.

“I should go,” she said, “before it gets any later.”

“Let me just put this stuff away, and I’ll find a cab for you. Would you be open to me taking you home?”

“That’s not necessary.” The evidence he’d presented had
added to his credibility, but there was no way she was going to let him see where she was staying.

He started toward the bedroom and then pivoted, catching her gaze and holding it.

“I’m going to fix this, Kit. I promise.”

She nodded, not in agreement, but just acknowledging the comment. He turned back and continued into the bedroom, slipping behind the screen.

Maybe he
would
fix it. She wanted desperately to believe that. Though there was one thing she knew for sure: he’d never be able to fix what had happened to Avery.

Avery. An image rushed Kit again. She could see the ugly gash on Avery’s head, the mottled skin of her face and hands. And then Kit’s mind was snagging on something again, but this time it didn’t tear away so quickly.

“You know, there’s a detail about Avery’s death that completely confuses me,” she called into the bedroom. “Why did she take the stairs?”

“What do you mean?” Kelman said from behind the partially open screen.

“The elevator was working that night.” She stepped closer to the bedroom so he could hear. “Avery clearly came up on it and I rode it down later when I went out to see you. Someone could have forced her to the stairs, but I probably would have picked up the sound of any commotion in the corridor.”

She peered behind the screen. Kelman was just closing the closet door and reading a text on his phone simultaneously. He looked up, surprised by her presence, and tucked the phone back into his jeans pocket.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was just nudging my lawyer in light of everything we’ve talked about. . . . Doesn’t your elevator have one of those emergency stop buttons?”

She bit her lip, thinking, “Yeah, it does.”

“The killer might have taken the elevator to another floor, stepped out, and pulled the button, so it was temporarily out of commission. Avery would have been forced to use the stairs to go down. And then by the time you left, another tenant could have discovered the problem and undone it.”

“So the killer must have thought I was leaving for the evening.”

“Possibly. Or he might have been planning to lure you out somehow if you hadn’t.”

He started to close the screen, which resisted a little on the track. This wasn’t his apartment, after all, and he wasn’t familiar with the kinks. What had these past weeks been like for
him
? she wondered.

“Does anyone in your life know where you are?” she asked.

“Other than you and my lawyer? No. And it’s been bizarre moving around the city, trying to be incognito. I feel like a character in a movie, someone people assume has been murdered but is really alive and has snuck back to try to figure out who wanted to kill him.”

“What about friends? Aren’t they worried about where you are?” She was curious to see how he’d respond, what it might reveal about him.

“When I left New York, I told friends I was going off the grid for a while, just trying to figure out my next move after Ithaka, so no one’s expecting much contact. And as I told you in Florida, I’m not involved with anyone romantically.”

“Family?”

“My sister’s pretty much it, and she knows the bare outlines of what’s going on. After Healy was killed, I paid for her to head out to California for a few weeks.”

“It must be hard, living like this.”

He smiled ruefully. “It’s no picnic. I’m a person of interest in
a homicide and the people who want you dead surely have the same agenda for me. But I’m not comparing my predicament to yours. I’m truly sorry for all I’ve put you through.”

Ahh, an apology. On the surface at least it sounded heartfelt. She started to move toward the front door, buttoning her coat.

“Well, once you go to the authorities, things will begin to turn around, won’t they?” she said, her back to him now. “You can go back to your old life.”

He came up behind her and turned her around toward him. She felt an electric jolt at his touch.

“One way or the other, my life is never going to be the same again,” he said. “I knew that when I decided to expose the illegal trades. But my situation is different than yours. You
will
be able to go back to your old life, Kit. It may just take time.”

She said nothing, but he must have detected a look in her eyes.

“What?” he said. “Do you not believe that, or is something else on your mind?”

“It’s just, I don’t know—I love my work, and I want that to thrive. But as for my personal life, I don’t actually want to go back to the way it was.”

“Because?”

“Remember when I came around the corner and saw you talking on the phone at the hotel? You said something I couldn’t get out of my mind: ‘I’d rather have a few regrets than none at all.’ I want to live my life that way for a change.”

“Right, I was talking to Matt then. Is that why you were willing to go to bed with me? Because you didn’t care if there’d be a few regrets?”

“Not exactly,” she said. “That night I was hoping there
would
be no regrets, that it was something I’d always be glad I’d done.”

Catching her by surprise, he reached up and cupped her
cheek. She didn’t flinch, just stood there, finally allowing her face to settle into his hand. He leaned forward and kissed her, softly at first but then more urgently, his mouth seeming to devour her. She let her body relax into his and kissed him back, giving in to the sheer pleasure of it, and hoping she wouldn’t regret it.

Baby was waiting up for her, dressed in a padded, blue silk robe and slippers and sporting, to Kit’s surprise, a head full of pink sponge rollers.

“It’s 10:37,” Baby said, hurrying into the foyer. “I was
this
close to sending out that disco ball tweet. And then I was going to do another saying you recommend that every kitchen have a row of rooster figurines.”

Kit smiled. “Sorry to be late, but I had a chance to see some of the evidence he has against his old company.”

“And?”

“It reassured me a little—though not completely.”

She recounted the meeting with Kelman, leaving out the part about the kiss. She didn’t want to think about that at the moment—the feel of his mouth on hers, the way she had kissed him back before finally pulling away.

“Do you really buy his reason for waiting?” Baby asked when she was done.

“I’m not sure. I mean, maybe. As of right now, the things he’s told me add up. Of course, looking at all those trading records was about the same as me trying to read Sanskrit. I had to take his word for most of it.”

“You’ll go to the police after he’s approached the U.S. Attorney’s office?”

“Yes, and I’ve been considering what you said about me hiring a lawyer. I
do
need one. I have a lot of ’splaining to do, as they say.”

“You have to find someone really good, a criminal lawyer.”

“I know, but the only lawyer I’ve ever used is the woman who helped me when I started my business. Offering guidance during a homicide investigation isn’t quite the same as helping someone set up an LLC.”

“Let me ask around, okay? My attorney doesn’t handle criminal—and he’s about as ancient as Matlock—but he’s in a big firm and there may be someone there you can use.”

Kit cringed, thinking of the expense, of the need to reach deep into her savings. But she didn’t have a choice. Her life was on the line.

They turned in after that. Kit was too exhausted to even change into nightclothes so she just stripped down to her underwear and the T-shirt she’d worn under her sweater, and crawled into bed.

She lay in the dark for a while, listening to the spring wind rattle the windows. She thought of the kiss again. Part of her regretted letting down her guard, and yet she couldn’t deny how strong the urge had been to reciprocate. And on the way home in the cab she’d realized that the desire had not just been physical. Despite the fact that she couldn’t fully trust Kelman, she felt drawn to him. Not Death Star drawn to him the way Baby had suggested, but
something
. He absorbed what she said, seemed to read her mind at times, seemed to
get
her.

She thought for a while about what she’d confessed to him. It was utterly true, not just words spoken in the drama of the moment: she didn’t want to return to her old life. As much as she was still reeling from Avery’s death, and from Healy’s, as
well, those events had woken her up, forced her to be more aware, made her take charge. That didn’t place her in the same league as the kind of badass, ruby-lipped characters Angelina Jolie played in movies, but she didn’t feel like Miss Goody Two Shoes anymore.

She’d come to realize, too, that she was stronger under adversity than she would have anticipated, and the potential to be so may have been there all along. She didn’t have a single regret about the career path she’d chosen, but she could see now that if she’d really wanted to attend college, she could have pulled it off somehow. The reason she hadn’t was that she’d lost her nerve, curled up in a ball. There was no way she’d let that happen again.

From sheer exhaustion, she fell asleep more quickly than she had in many nights.

She was up by six, roused by a dream she couldn’t recall. After showering and dressing, she made her way to the kitchen and dropped a piece of bread in the toaster. A few minutes later Baby strolled in. If she was feeling overwhelmed by everything, she was doing her best not to show it. And thanks to the rollers, her head was now a crown of champagne blond curls.

“I spoke to Dara and she’s coming at ten,” Baby said. “Since you’re cooped up here, why don’t you use her to do as much shopping as possible?”

“There’s only so much I can delegate to her. I need a few small items to finish off the Greenwich Village apartment, but they have to be absolutely perfect.”

“What about Barry the Bachelor’s pad? I thought you were behind on that. Could Dara shop for that?”

“Yes, but I don’t even have a concept for him yet. How
is
Dara, anyway?”

“As we know, Dara’s a trooper, but I could sense from her voice that she’s still quite upset, and not just about Avery. I explained
to her that we were concentrating on only existing clients at the moment, and I’m sure she’s worried her job is in jeopardy.”

“I can’t let it be.”

But that wasn’t all that concerned Kit in relation to Dara. She regretted withholding so much from her. She’d been trying to protect Dara, but all the mystery had only added to her assistant’s anxiety. And even worse, every day Dara worked with Kit she was in some ways vulnerable, just like Baby.

Kit set herself back up in the dining room and checked online for any updates regarding Avery’s death. The story seemed to be everywhere now. Avery’s PR business had serviced just enough boldface name clients for her death to warrant coverage with the kind of hysterical tone usually afforded to cheating politicians or celebrity butt-crack sightings. Most of the press items now pointed out that Avery had died leaving the office of Finn-Meadow. And the most recent ones contained a chilling detail: the police considered the death a possible homicide.

Kit had suspected that even before she’d overheard the investigator, but seeing it confirmed made her heart skip.

Glumly, she checked email next, something she’d neglected to do last night. There was a frantic email from her friend Amy saying she’d heard the news and had tried to reach her several times to no avail. There was a message from Chuck, as well: “WTF. Are you OK? Call me right away.” She quickly emailed her friends back, reassuring them she was fine and would be in touch when she had the opportunity.

For a moment Kit wondered if she should give her parents a heads up. Though they could hardly be categorized as Internet surfers, they did go online at times, and there was a chance they would stumble on the story. But she decided to chance it and not breathe a word. In the years since her father’s bankruptcy, their protectiveness of her had mushroomed, and if she shared the
story with them, they’d be totally wigged out. They’d probably plead with her to flee the city with a U-Haul.

Next she tried to focus on work, particularly on fleshing out a plan for Barry. She felt hopelessly stalled, unable to conjure up a viable concept for his place. Baby’s suggestion came to mind. She decided that she would have Dara spend part of the day at the D&D building, gathering as many fabric samples as possible. Maybe seeing a ton of swatches would get her creative juices flowing.

Dara arrived shortly afterward and sat at the table with her, agreeably taking notes for the fabric-scouting mission and asking a few follow-up questions. But Kit could sense how fraught she was inside, still shaken from yesterday and surely wondering why Kit wouldn’t be doing any of the legwork for Barry. It seemed like the right moment to come clean with her.

“Dara,” Kit said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “I need to be more honest with you than I have been. I know you’ve sensed lately that there’s been more going on than meets the eye, and you’re right. Since I got back from my first trip to Florida, it appears that someone has been under the impression—totally false—that I have information that could possibly send them to prison. I’m pretty sure that’s why the office and my apartment were broken into. And it may be why Avery ended up dead. Someone apparently pushed her.”

Dara looked strickened. “But—what
kind
of information? What could anyone possibly think you know?”

“I’ll tell you at some point, but right now I just need you to be aware of what the stakes are. There’s a decent chance these people will be apprehended soon, and yet there’s no guarantee of that. There’s even the possibility of more trouble.”

“Okay,” Dara said, bobbing her head a little, as if keeping time with her thoughts. “And thank you for telling me. You know how loyal I am to you and Baby, but I probably should give this
some thought. Scott is worried about me, and so are my parents.”

“Totally understood,” Kit said, but she was even more disconcerted now. Was Dara thinking of quitting?

“In fact, do you mind if I leave a little early today?” Dara asked. “My parents want to meet with me after work.”

As Kit nodded in consent, Dara’s request triggered a memory: her six-thirty meeting with Sasha. She’d arranged it to see if she could gather as many crumbs as possible on Kelman, but seeing the evidence last night had ratcheted up her fear about leaving the apartment. It seemed too risky to venture out just for crumbs. She decided to call and cancel, promising to rearrange the appointment at a later time. That way it would still be an option for the future if necessary.

Sasha picked up her cell phone on the second ring.

“I’ve been planning to get in touch,” Sasha said, “but it’s been crazy here. . . .
really
crazy.”

Crazy
how
? Kit wondered. She wanted to know, but if she were going to troll for information, she would have to proceed cautiously.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I bet you’re always under a lot of pressure there.”

“It’s not the pressure that’s bothering me,” Sasha said, her voice hushed. “I’m used to that. It’s the mood. The gloom here is so thick you could cut it with a knife.”

“Is it because of Matt Healy?” Kit asked, trying to keep her tone casual. “I’m sure people are still upset about his death.”

“Partly. You knew him, of course. I assume this hasn’t been easy for you either.”

How many times did she have to explain to the woman that she
hadn’t
known Healy? Was Sasha just toying with her to elicit information herself?

“I’d actually met him only once, but still, it was disturbing to hear about his death. . . . You said ‘partly.’”

“Excuse me.”

“You said all the craziness was only partly due to Matt’s death.”

“What I meant was that it’s not just that he died but
how
he died. Being murdered.”

“Do the police have any leads yet?”

“Possibly.”

“What do you mean?

“I can’t really say any more at the moment. Are we still on for tonight?”

How could she
not
go now? Sasha clearly knew more than she’d just revealed and if Kit could worm it out of her, it might prove valuable to Kelman, and therefore to her in the long run.

“Of course, that’s why I was calling. I just wanted to verify the time.”

“I need to make it 7:30 instead of 6:30.”

“Not a problem.”

“And I need to do it downtown, near Wall Street. I’ve got a late appointment down there. Why don’t we meet at a place called Harry’s Bar on Hanover Square?” Not good. Wall Street would place her way out of any safety zone.

“But—I have to see your apartment,” Kit insisted. “I only got a peek at the living room the other night.”

“There’s really nothing more to see. The two bedrooms are as bare as everything else. What we need to do now is talk about a game plan. We can do it over a drink. Now, I really do need to go.”

Kit was sure that if she tried to change the location, she’d blow the opportunity.

“Fine. I’ll see you then, Sasha. I’m looking forward to it.”

She set the phone down and let out a shaky breath. Sneaking over to an apartment building on the Upper East Side was one thing, but an expedition all the way downtown was another entirely. She wasn’t second-guessing her decision—there was stuff
Sasha knew and Kit had to lay her hands on it—but the idea of traveling so far away scared her.

Baby was still out at an appointment when Kit departed—and Dara had long since gone home—so she left a note saying she had an important matter to take care of and would see Baby around nine. Dismissing any need to impress Sasha this time, she dressed as nondescriptly as possible: a black velvet blazer, jeans, and boots.

Once again the doorman set out to flag down a taxi for her, but it took longer this time, probably because she was leaving toward the end of rush hour. As she paced the lobby waiting, she chided herself for not factoring that in. She was going to be at least ten minutes late, and Sasha was the type who might decide not to wait.

Finally the doorman came trotting toward her, announcing that the cab was just outside. She thanked him and nearly flung herself into the back seat. As they headed east and then south, Kit turned to look out the rear window. No sign of any kind of tail.

Surprisingly the FDR wasn’t backed up, and the city flew by, a rush of lights and towering buildings against an inky blue-black sky. They exited at South Street, and the driver maneuvered his way farther west and then into the dark, foreboding canyons of the Wall Street area.

“Here we go,” the driver said at last. After swiping her credit card, Kit peered out the window. The building was Renaissance style, probably constructed over a hundred years before, and she could see that the bar and restaurant were one flight down, in the basement.