‘whatever happened to Lenny, it happened at sea and it happened on the day of the storm. Jack was also out on the water that day, remember?’
Grace remembered. Like Michael Gray, Jack Warner was an expert sailor. Expert enough to somehow board Lenny’s boat and kill him? To dump him overboard and make it look like an accident? It was possible.
‘Try to find a lady called Jasmine,’ said Andrew. ‘That’s the best advice I can give you. She might make you see things in a different light.’
Mitch had gone to the Prestons’ apartment on impulse. He’d hoped to quiz Andrew about his alleged embezzlement from Quorum, but was met instead by a hysterical Maria. It was almost midnight, and Andrew hadn’t called. No one had seen him since he left the office at five. She’d called the police but no one took her seriously. Mitch did. ‘Let me pour you a brandy, Mrs Preston.’
Had Grace taken the law into her own hands? By now, she would know that Andrew had been stealing from Lenny. What if she’d abducted him? Or worse? If Grace got it into her head that Andrew was behind Lenny’s death, there was no telling what she might be capable of.
When the apartment door opened and Andrew Preston walked in, Mitch was at least as relieved as Maria. Andrew’s shirt was bloodied and his nose badly bruised, but he seemed calm. Unlike his wife, who flung herself melodramatically into his arms.
‘Oh, Andy, Andy! What happened? I’ve been out of my mind. Where have you been?’
‘At the hospital. I’m fine, Maria. I had a slight accident, that’s all.’
‘What sort of accident?’
‘Ridiculous really. I slipped and fell in the rain and landed flat on my face on the sidewalk. I would have called, but I was stuck in the ER for hours. You know what those places are like. I didn’t want to worry you, darling.’
‘Well you did worry me. The police are here.’
Maria gestured toward Mitch. Andrew Preston recognized him from the TV reports as the guy who was looking for Grace. He did his best to sound nonchalant. ‘My goodness. Does one errant husband warrant a search party these days? I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble, Detective.’
‘Not at all, Mr Preston. I actually came to talk with you about another matter, but it can wait. I’m glad to see you home safe. Look, this is probably going to sound like a ridiculous question. But I don’t suppose Grace Brookstein has tried to contact you by any chance. In the last forty-eight hours?’
Andrew looked puzzled. ‘Grace? Contact me? No. Why on earth would she do that?’
‘No reason,’ said Mitch. ‘I’ll see myself out.’
Later, in bed, Andrew watched his wife sleep. I love you so much, my angel. He’d been touched by Maria’s concern when he got home. Perhaps things were going to be all right between them after all?
He’d considered telling Detective Connors the truth about Grace and what had happened that afternoon. But only for a moment. Grace had spared his life and forgiven him his sins. The least he could do was return the favor.
If Lenny really had been murdered, Andrew wished Grace luck in finding his killer. Whatever the world might think, Lenny Brookstein had been a good man. Reaching across the bed for Maria, Andrew pulled her close, inhaling the heady scent of her body. The faint whiff of aftershave he detected as well brought tears to his eyes.
Andrew Preston never wore aftershave.
Jasmine Delevigne admired her naked body in the mirror. She was twenty-four years old, with smooth café au lait skin, long, slender legs and a new set of perfect silicone breasts, a birthday present from a powerful client. Cupping them lovingly in her hands, Jasmine thought, No. He’s more than a client. He’s my lover. I adore him.
It was unlike Jasmine to get attached to the men who paid to share her bed. The daughter of a French businessman and a Persian princess, Jasmine Delevigne didn’t need the money she earned as a hooker. She did it for the thrill. Just knowing that rich, powerful men, men with beautiful wives and even more beautiful mistresses, found her irresistible, so intoxicating that they would pay for the privilege of bedding her, gave Jasmine an incredible high. It was years since she’d dipped into her trust fund. Her Fifth Avenue apartment, her vintage MG convertible, her wardrobe full of couture dresses and thousand-dollar-a-pair shoes; Jasmine’s perfect body had paid for them all. Other people might call her a whore. People like her father, who lavished all his attention on Jasmine’s mother and never noticed his daughter’s efforts to please him. But Jasmine didn’t care what they thought.
I’m a feminist. I fuck who I like, when I like, because I like. I answer to no one.
She wandered into her dressing room and picked out some underwear. Chocolate-brown, silk La Perla panties and a matching camisole. Classy and feminine. Just how he likes it. It had been weeks since Jasmine had seen him and she was excited. There were others, of course. All her clients were good-looking, successful men, and all of them were good in bed. Jasmine Delevigne was the best, and she only worked with the best. But none of the other men had gotten to her the way that he did.
The buzzer rang.
He’s early. He wants this as much as I do.
Jasmine opened the door coolly, like the princess that she was.
‘Hello, darling.’
He grabbed her by the throat. ‘Take your fucking clothes off. Now.’
Jasmine’s pupils dilated with excitement. I’ve missed you so much.
‘Please! No!’
Gavin Williams tightened the knots around Grace Brookstein’s wrists. Then he lifted the cane and brought it down hard across the backs of her legs. Two livid red welts joined the others. Gavin Williams smiled.
‘I’ll ask you again, Grace. Where is the money?’
She was crying. Begging. Lenny Brookstein’s wife, his most treasured possession, was begging him, Gavin Williams, for mercy. But Gavin Williams would show no mercy.
Let the sinners be consumed out of the earth, and let the wicked be no more.
He felt himself getting hard. He lifted the cane again.
‘Excuse me, sir? Are you okay?’
Gavin Williams’s fantasy evaporated. He was back at his desk at the SIBL, the Science, Industry and Business Library on Madison Avenue. The librarian was standing over him. Stupid, meddlesome bitch. Why couldn’t she mind her own business?
‘I’m fine.’
‘Are you sure? You look very flushed. Would you like me to open a window or something?’
‘No,’
