Brian Garfield - Villiers Touch

“Do it anyway-we’ve got to use every tool we can.”

“What about the admissibility of that kind of evidence, even if we get it?”

“We’ll get a warrant. That way it’ll be admissible in court.”

“If we pick up anything. I hate putting all our eggs in a basket this flimsy, Russ.”

“Then find me another one. In the meantime, get your people moving on it. We’ll need a federal warrant and all the gadgetry and people to operate it. You’d better get going-no telling how much time we have.”

Shortly after the Market closed in the afternoon, Miss Sprague buzzed and announced coolly, “A Miss McCloud to see you, sir. She doesn’t have an appointment.”

“Send her in, please.”

He stood up, composing himself, surprised; he hadn’t expected her, he wasn’t prepared.

Carol appeared in the doorway. Her lovely eyes were round and wide, her uncertain smile was sweet and touching. Her hair made a thick, silky fall to her shoulders. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful.

“Hi,” he said. “Come in-shut the door. I didn’t expect-”

“I know.” She came into the room, moving lightly and quickly-soft, slim, stunning. Hastings veiled his eyes.

“I have to talk to you, Russ, and it couldn’t wait. Otherwise I wouldn’t have come. I feel awfully apologetic.”

“Nonsense.” He held the chair for her and perched on the corner of the desk. “I’m glad you came.”

“Are you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I’m a little jumpy. You see, I’m pulling up stakes, and for me that can be a risk.”

“You’re leaving New York?”

“Taking the night flight to Rome. I’m all packed, I’ve given up my apartment, everything’s arranged.”

“But-how long will you be away?”

“I’m not coming back, Russ.”

“I see.”

“I’m going to disappear,” she said. “I’m going to assume another identity. I’ve got all the papers to document it-I’ve been working it out for years.”

“But what will you do?” he asked, hearing the lame sound of his own voice.

She laughed. “You look so kind and concerned, Russ, your eyes are so fond. Please don’t worry about me. I’m not going to ‘do’ anything, in the sense you mean. I’m retiring while I’ve still got my looks and a little bit of my soul left. I’ve got plenty of money, I don’t have to work. Maybe I’ll join the jet set and drift from the grand-prix racing circuit to the film festivals and back. I really don’t have any plans-I just want to drift for a while until I decide what I want. I’ll dye my hair and change my style of doing things, and I doubt I’ll be recognized by anybody who knows me.”

He turned his hand over. “I don’t really know what to say.”

She laughed, and cut the laugh off; she reached out to touch his hand. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you, honestly. I’m very nervous-forgive me. I didn’t really make a special trip down here during your office hours to say good-bye. I would have called you on the phone. We’ve had a silly sort of time together, but you’re one of the few people I think of as my friend.”

“I’m glad to know that,” he said. “It means a good deal to me.”

“Then I’m happy.” She gave him a warm smile, but her eyes seemed to have lost focus; she pulled her head around toward the window and steadfastly kept her gaze in that direction, turned away from him, while she spoke: “But that’s not why I came. These are business hours, and this is business, Russ. I know the SEC is after Mason Villiers-I suppose by now a lot of people know it, but Mason isn’t worried, he thinks you can’t touch him.”

“He may be right, too. He covers his tracks better than an Apache Indian. But how much do you know about him?”

“I know a great deal about him,” she said in a low tone. “He’s owned me for years.”

He did not voice the instantly obvious question; he only watched her averted face. He could see the beat of a pulse at her throat. Disconcerted, she fumbled with her oversized handbag, sniffed, grinned derisively, and took a thick, folded sheaf of typewritten pages from it. She reached out to drop the document on his desk, near his hand; she said, “I’d prefer you don’t read that until I’m gone.”

“What is it?”

“The story of my life,” she said with a twisted mouth. “Some of it, anyway-the part that concerns Mason Villiers. It should make interesting reading in a courtroom. I’ve had it notarized-I don’t know whether it will stand up in court, but I’m afraid it’s the best I could do. I’m not going to testify in person, I’m too frightened, and I’ve got too much to lose. If that makes it worthless, then I apologize to you, Russ. But even if you can’t use it in court, you can find facts in it, and you can trace back to those same facts through other people. You’ll know where to look for proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“It’s all sordid and tedious, Russ, I don’t want to go over it with you, sitting here face to face like this. I want to remember your face with warmth in it. Once you’ve read my statement, you won’t think of me that way any more. I’ve done some unspeakable things.”

“We all have,” he said. “I don’t think anything you could tell me would change my feeling for you.”

“How do you feel about me? I know you made an absurd marriage proposal to me once, but you were drunk, and we were both upset, and none of it made any sense. Now we’re on your turf instead of mine, for the first time. Does it make a difference in the way you feel?”

“No.”

“I thought perhaps you’d thought about what I was. I had visions of your teeth grinding every time you thought about me.”

He laughed. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t know very much about love,” she said softly. “Oh, I guess all women think about it, but I think there’s no room left inside me for love-I mean, the real kind, between a woman and a man. I’ve been used by too many men.”

“There are other kinds of love,” he said. “I’m not going to propose to you again, and I’m not going to fall to pieces when you leave for Rome. We’ll probably never see each other again. I regret that, but I’ll live with it. I’ll be grateful to have known you.”

“I’m glad,” she whispered. She stood up to go, but Hastings put out a detaining hand. Her back registered taut reaction. He turned her around toward him and put his hands on her shoulders and kissed her lightly, and then her throat made a groaning sound, and her fingers bit deep into his back.

She wrenched herself away and smiled. Her eyes were moist. “You’re so incredibly good, Russ. I wish you everything.” She halved her smile, gazed at him intently as if to fix his image in her mind, and wheeled abruptly away, walking straight to to the door with lithe strides, going right on through without once looking back. His last glimpse of her remained in his vision like an afterglow after she was gone: God, she was so lovely. He turned back to his desk, sat down very slowly, and reached for the document she had left behind.

The sky was crowded with full-bellied clouds, there was the smell of rain in the hot air. But the night remained fetid and oppressive. Villiers stood under the awning in front of an apartment house on West Thirteenth Street and kept looking at his watch, filling up with impatient anger. He remembered what Diane had said about keeping others waiting; he promised himself this would be the last time, ever.

The big Lincoln drew up in the shadows fifty feet down the street. He walked toward it. The right-hand rear door opened, but the interior domelight didn’t go on-disconnected, probably. Villiers stooped to get in.