Carol O’Connell - Winter House

„I couldn’t tell you if I wanted to!“ And now, his words came out all in a rush. „It was a cash payment – anonymous. Ask my secretary. She opened the first package. There were two installments, one before the bail hearing and one afterward.“

„And you gave the secretary a cut to keep her quiet, right?“ Riker pocketed the warrant, producing instant relief in the attorney’s eyes. „Okay, I don’t think we have to pursue this – if your story holds up.“ He took one last look at the man bent over his desk, then turned to his partner. „Can we take a picture of this before you uncuff him?“

No, he could see that Mallory was in a hurry to get on to the next interview. Well, one lawyer down and one to go. Their second target of the day was the attorney of record for the Winter family trust fund. He was also the father of Bitty Smyth.

The reception hall of the Harvard Club had the hallmark of wealth and power – wasted space on an obscene scale. The high ceiling was close to God and deceased alumni.

It was rare for Charles Butler to set foot in this place. As a child prodigy, he had not made many friends among his older classmates. Today’s luncheon was at the invitation of Sheldon Smyth, scion of the oldest and most venerable law firm in New York City. Smyth had mentioned that his son, Paul, would also be dining with them. The old man harbored the delusion that Charles and Paul had been great friends at school.

Untrue.

Paul Smyth had been shoehorned into Harvard as the son of a wealthy alumnus, while Charles had been a sought-after child, the center of a bidding war among the finest schools on the Eastern Seaboard. There had been only one occasion when he and Paul had met on campus – in passing. At eighteen, Charles had been on his way out, one semester away from submitting a Ph.D. dissertation, and Paul had just arrived as an incoming freshman. No thought had been given to this – schoolmate – in decades. However, last night, the birthday party photographs in Bitty Smyth’s bedroom had raised old grudges dating back to the sandbox.

The main dining room, a grand oak-paneled affair, was lined with the portraits of patrons immortalized in gigantic oil paintings, their names and deeds long forgotten. However, the club’s famed cheese dip was memorable.

He crossed the room behind a waiter. If not for this escort, he would never have chosen the right table, for his old enemy was so altered by time. Paul Smyth’s hair had thinned, his belly had expanded, and his chin had tripled. But Charles was recognized at once, so little changed was he, with a full head of hair and only the one chin. So it was a balanced universe after all. Paul stood up to shake hands with him.

In peripheral vision, Paul’s father was a thatch of silver hair with thick black eyebrows. Now the older man rose from his chair to match Charles’s stature of six-four. Sheldon Smyth extended one hand across the table to greet his luncheon guest. The old man’s eyes were the magic mirrors that every narcissist prayed for, clear blue reflections of the egoist coda, saying to the beholder: My God, I think you’re wonderful. 1 Aloud he said, „So good of you to come, such short notice and all.“

Charles was stunned, but not seduced. „How do you do, sir?“

By Sheldon Smyth’s manner and smile, the other diners might believe that they were close friends who met for lunch every day. When the three men were seated with menus in hand, the elder Smyth said, „I understand the police got you out of bed last night. My ex-wife called this morning. You remember her of course. Cleo Winter-Smyth?“

„No,“ said Charles. „We’ve never met.“ For that matter, he could not recall having met Paul’s father either. At those gatherings where children were forcibly pitted against one another, Paul had always been accompanied by a nanny.

„But you did meet her once,“ said Paul, „for about six seconds when you were ten. She dropped off me and my sister at your birthday party. Bitty wasn’t invited, of course, but she badgered Dad, and I had to take her.“

Sheldon Smyth cleared his throat to announce that this minor slander did not sit well with him. „Bitty is the only child by my first marriage to Cleo.“

Charles nodded in a show of polite interest. „I see the family resemblance.“

„Bitty’s adopted,“ said Paul.

This was a surprise, for the woman had features in common with her father, the shape of his large eyes, if not their color, the same chin and mouth. Paul, on the other hand, bore no -

„She’s family ,“ said Sheldon Smyth, all but daring his son to say one more word. With a friendlier expression, he turned all of his attention on Charles. „Cleo and I adopted Bitty when my cousin died in childbirth. Now tell me, why should the police bother you about a lot of photographs?“

„I believe they’re required to notify me of a potential stalker.“

„But you set them straight, of course, told them she was a family connection.“

This was news to Charles, who had no surviving relatives. He politely smiled and waited for some explanation.

„Your mother’s second cousin, Charles. His half brother was a Smyth. No blood relation perhaps, but there you are,“ he said. „Family.“ The old lawyer allowed this word to hang alone, punctuated with respectful silence to increase its import.

Charles was not surprised. He had long been a believer in the six degrees of separation: the theory that everyone on the planet was somehow connected to everyone else by a sequence of relationships. However, the Smyths had taken it to an elitist extreme, marrying into every major fortune in New York State.

„So you’ve got a stalker,“ said Paul, not quite understanding that word as the one his father most wanted to defuse. He failed to catch the old man’s eye and that look of disappointment in an idiot son. „Just like a rock star.“ Grinning, Paul punched Charles on the arm, instantly calling up the days when a child-size Paul had fired sniper shots with closed fists, jabbing and bruising on the run, then finishing off his prey by killing him with words that had an even stronger punch and power. Charles had died each time they met.

But not today.

Sheldon Smyth had finally managed to capture his son’s attention. The old man narrowed his eyes in an ocular thump on the head, a warning not to punch their guest one more time. Glancing at his watch, he said, „Paul, don’t let us detain you any longer.“ As he reached out for a roll and a butter knife, his face said the rest: Go, or be impaled on the silverware.

And now, Charles quite liked the old man.

When Paul had excused himself from the table and the waiter had departed with their menus and lunch orders, Sheldon Smyth leaned forward, voice lowered. „So, my boy, Cleo said the house was full of police – standing room only. Why all this fuss over a burglar?“

„Well, he was a dead burglar. You didn’t know?“

„No, my ex-wife neglected to mention a corpse. So typical of Cleo,“ he said, as if dead bodies lying about the house were an everyday nuisance. „I think she was more concerned that you might cause problems for Bitty. When I called my office this morning, I was told that the police had paid a visit. Well, naturally… I wondered if you’d pressed charges against my daughter.“

„No, sir, it never occurred to me.“

„Good man.“

Salads arrived during the ensuing silence. Then Charles further reassured Bitty’s father, saying, „I had a long talk with Bitty last night. I’m satisfied that she isn’t the least bit dangerous.“

„Quite right. No more than a simple schoolgirl crush. I’m sure you found it quite charming.“