Peter Spiegelman - Red Cat

“He hadn’t known?” I felt my brows go up. “Privacy is one thing, but to hide something like that from someone you’re involved with…”

Krug shook his head. “She takes pains to insulate her life from Cassandra’s work, but you’re right, it’s odd, and I don’t claim to understand it. Perhaps she thought it was none of Werner’s business, or perhaps she was afraid of his reaction.”

“What was his reaction?”

“Anger. Jealousy. More anger. I don’t know the particulars, but I know that Holly was very upset, and that it went on for weeks. He called here countless times looking for her, and there was an ugly scene out front. I think there may have been some violence too.”

“He hit her?”

“It’s speculation on my part, but…I saw bruises.”

“You said there was an element of abuse in their relationshipdoes that mean there’d been violence before?”

He nodded. “It wasn’t the first time I’d seen bruises.”

“Could they have been from Cassandra’s work?”

Krug shrugged. “Of course they could have. As I said, it’s speculation.”

“What finally happened with Werner?”

“His anger seemed to play itself out after three or four weeks. Holly stopped talking about him and she seemed less tense. And a little while after that, she told me she was involved with Jamie.”

I took a slow breath. “Jamie is the guy she’s seeing now?”

Krug nodded. “Holly seems happy with him, as happy as I’ve known her to be.”

“Do you know Jamie’s last name?”

Krug shook his head. “I haven’t met him or even caught a glimpse; I just know him as Jamie.”

“Any idea of where he lives?” Another head shake. “How about where he works?”

“He works at a place in the East Village, the 9:3 °Club. Holly met him there.”

“When?”

“I don’t know precisely, but she hired him over the summer to do some work on the side.”

“What kind of work?”

Krug pursed his lips and ran a manicured finger across his chin. “Security, for some of her filming.” The puzzlement showed on my face, and Krug went on. “Filming the closing scenes of her pieces can be dangerous. Her subjects are agitated, and they sometimes become…hostile. Holly finally decided to be sensible and have someone close by. Jamie is apparently an imposing fellow. He was a fighter, Holly tells me, and she intimated that he’d spent time in prison.”

“He sounds wonderful. How close does she keep him while she’s filming?”

“Not in the room, of course, but nearby, and reachable by telephone.”

I thought about Interview Four, and Bluto, and Holly’s telephone check-ins. I looked at Krug. “Was he on the other end of the phone in Interview Four?”

He smiled thinly. “She made that long before she hired Jamie.”

“Was it you?”

“It wasn’t me, either, Mr. March. It was acting. There was no one waiting for Holly’s call when she filmed that scene, but she made that man believe there was, and she made you believe it too.”

I sighed and shook my head. “She has quite an appetite for risk.”

“What work of art worthy of the name isn’t risky?”

“I wasn’t talking just about her art.”

Krug gave me a speculative look. “An artist’s life and work necessarily run together, Mr. March. Holly’s work is dangerous and…extreme, and I suppose her life is too, though she takes pains to keep the two separate.”

“The alter ego thing, you mean?”

He nodded. “Anonymity enables her to work. It keeps her safe.”

“But her secret identity isn’t so secret, is it?”

“Your presence here is proof of that.”

“And I’m not the first to come calling.” Krug ran a hand through his snowy hair and tapped his chin and said nothing. “I’m talking about the lawyer who came here a couple of months ago,” I said. “The guy working for one of Holly’s interview subjects.”

“I know who you’re talking about, Mr. March.”

“Do you know who he was working for?”

“I don’t.”

“Or what he wanted?”

“He wanted Cassandra, though he wouldn’t say why. In fact he said very little, though he did it in a very threatening way. Despite that, I told him nothing.”

“Did you know that he’d found her anyway? Did Holly mention that?”

Krug’s eyes narrowed. “She did not. I told her about his visit and gave her the information on his business card, and that was the last we discussed it.”

“He gave you a card?”

Krug rummaged briefly in his desk and took out a large leather-bound diary. He opened it, flicked through a thick sheaf of business cards, and handed one to me. It was heavy stock and plain white, with simple black print. Thomas Vickers, Attorney.

I copied down the name and number and handed the card back to Krug. I finished my cold coffee and asked a few more questions that he couldn’t answer, and he walked me to the door. When I thanked him for his time he stared at me. His face was like a weathered stone and his eyes were full of worry.

“Just tell her to call me,” he said. His voice was low and tattered and it followed me through the snow, all the way home.

When I have questions about lawyers, I call Michael Metz. I heated some soup from a can and watched a taxi skate sideways down Sixteenth Street while I waited for Mike to come to the phone. When I said Thomas Vickers’s name to him, he went quiet.

“You know this guy?” I asked after a long silence.

“I do.”

“And?”

“And Tommy Vickers is a very good lawyer. A very expensive and discreet lawyer. A lawyer about whom there is much rumor and speculation, none of which has yet been substantiated.”

“Rumor and speculation about what?”

“Tommy is in the tax consulting business these days- at least that’s what he calls it. Tax shelters, offshore corporate shells, and byzantine trust arrangements are the specialties of the house. Rumor has it that his client list is heavy with Wall Street types, and speculation is that his services run right to the edge- maybe over the edge- of tax evasion and money laundering. Our crackerjack Justice Department has apparently been looking at him for years without any joy.”

“How do you know so much about this guy?”

Mike chuckled. “Back when he was a litigator, a dozen or so years ago, he cleaned my clock in a civil case. I like to keep track.”

“I didn’t know you’d ever had your clock cleaned.”

“What can I say, the ink was barely dry on my law diploma. It was all very educational.”

“No doubt. What does he look like?”

“Somewhere in his fifties by now, medium-sized, silver-haired, and very old-school. Always the dark suit and white shirt and dark tie, like a G-man, and always the closed mouth.”

“Fits the description I got from Holly’s neighbor. What’s his firm called?”

“It’s called the Tommy Vickers All by Himself Firm. He’s not big on trust and sharing.”

“So what’s a high-priced tax consultant like him doing chasing down Holly Cade?”

“Only one reason comes immediately to mind.”

“And that is?”

“Because a very important client asked him to.”

I laughed. “I’ll call him today and find out who.”

“Get him to say more than twenty-five words, I’ll buy you lunch.”

I was about to ring off but Mike wasn’t through. “I spoke to your brother this morning, and told him what I’d learned about the cause of death, and the timing.”

“How did that go?”

“Not well. The news upset him- no surprise there- and he wasn’t particularly cooperative when I asked him his whereabouts that Tuesday.”