Lynne Heitman - First Class Killing

“But why would he do it? It seems like high-risk behavior for someone so high-profile.”

“Well, either she’s the best piece of ass that ever walked, or Angela has dirty pictures of him.”

I remembered the moment when I had seen Jamie’s face in that video for the first time. There would be few things more powerful than a video of a naked senator doing it with a hooker, especially with the high-quality digital equipment these women were using. That had to be it. Why would he risk his job unless it was to save his job? “She does.”

“Does what?”

“Angel has a sex video of this senator. That’s how she got him to do what he did.”

“How do you know?”

“Look, I know you’re still pissed at me, but I’m going to tell you some things that I hope you will keep in confidence.”

He waved an exasperated hand.“Now you want to trust me?”

“I always trusted you. I just couldn’t tell you everything.”

He considered that. “Answer one question honestly. If you weren’t in trouble and needing my help, would you have ever rung my buzzer again?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick.” He put a finger to his chin. “I wonder, do I believe you?”

“You asked me to tell the truth.” I stared down at my shoelaces. “I felt like a shitheel every time I lied to you. I tried not to, but you’re a good man, Tristan. I couldn’t help but confide in you, even when I knew it was unfair to do it. So, when it comes down to it, and this part cannot be denied, the fact that I had to lie to you was your fault.”

When I looked up, he was clearly trying to figure out if I was serious. I smiled. I really did miss him. “I’m sorry, Tristan. I don’t know what else to say.”

His jaw seemed to unclench slightly. “Let me get some refreshments, and you can tell me your secret-agent stories.”

I sank back into the leather couch and thanked whoever was watching over me that Tristan was a big enough person to forgive. He came back with an ice bucket and a tray with several bottles of sparkling water. He set the tray down and handed me one of those techno cold packs that you keep in the freezer. “This is Barry’s. It’s for his sinus headaches, but he won’t mind if you use it.”

“For what?”

“Have you seen your eyes lately?”

His dedication to flawless service ran deep. “Thank you.”

I didn’t want to talk to him without looking at him, so I put the cold pack on my forehead as I told him everything. I told him about Monica and Arthur Margolies and the possibility that she was blackmailing several of her clients.

“Busy, busy girl,” was his comment.

I told him about Monica’s call to me in New York and Angel’s mysterious threat to her. Then I told him about Jamie and what Angel had done with him, and he with her. Tristan might not have had sympathy for me, but he did for Jamie.

“How is he?”

“Shattered. We had a monumental fight. Really hurtful to each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me, too. She called me at his house. I don’t know how she knew I was there.”

“She didn’t have to know. All she had to do was try it and get lucky. I told you from the beginning, she’s an evil, evil bitch. You should have included me. I could have helped you.”

“You also said that you would defend her, no matter what.”

He thought about that. “Part of that was me spewing rhetoric, and part of it was true. I have no love for management, especially since I worked in it. But she has gone beyond the pale.”

“How would you have helped?”

“I would have told you not to trust the airline. They do not have the backbone to take on Angela and win. I would have told you the only real way to get rid of her would be to go to the police. If she goes to jail, she gets fired for sure. It’s in the contract. There is no deal they could make to bring her back.”

An intriguing idea. Whatever Angel was up to, I had no doubt we’d all be better off with her in jail. That wasn’t even considering the personal satisfaction I would get from seeing her incarcerated. But…“It’s too late now.”

“Why?”

“She knows we’re on to her. She’ll have switched everything up. We would have to rebuild the entire case from scratch, and if it’s true the airline is bailing, I would have to do it without their resources or the access I had undercover. My partner is already squirrelly. Can’t be done.”

“Unless,” he said, “you can get an insider to come forward and testify.”

I looked at him. I liked where he was going. “An insider like Monica?”

“If it’s true Angela is after her for this blackmail scheme, you might be her best alternative at this point.”

“She didn’t sound very cooperative last time we spoke. Besides, I can’t go to the police until I get Jamie’s video back.”

“Could she help you with that?”

“I believe she can. She knows Web Boy.”

“Who?”

“Stewart Belkamp, Angel’s Web master. He’s involved in both the blackmail scheme and Angel’s business. If I threaten to tell Angel he’s working against her, it might be enough to get him working for us. The question is, can we get Monica working for us. You know her better than I do. Will she talk?”

“I’ll get her to talk.” With a nonchalant wave, he dismissed any thought that she could resist him.

“We have to find her first.”

“I’ll find her, but not tonight.”

I checked my watch. It was three-thirtyA.M. “Oh, man.”

“I know. You sleep here. I’ll get you a blanket.”

He got no argument from me. I put the cold pack over my eyes and was fast asleep before he had even left the room.

My cold pack was no longer cold when I woke up. I put my bare feet on the floor and rubbed the sleep from my eyes. It was cloudy outside, so the room was dim with the blinds closed, which might have been the reason I had slept until ten. On my way back from the bathroom, I found Tristan’s note on the dining-room table. True to his word, he was out looking for Monica.

I dug out my cell phone and checked messages at home. No word from Harvey. No word from Jamie, although I hadn’t expected any. No word from anyone. I was poised with my thumb over Felix’s turbo button when another call came in. I looked at the spy window and punched it up.

“ Harvey, where are you?”

HARVEY EMERGED FROM THE POOL, CLIMBING one shallow step at a time and gripping the silver bar with his thick, square fingers. His disease had not diminished his bulk above the hips-his torso was thick, and his spongy belly hung down over the waist of his bathing suit. Yet he seemed fragile. If the waist of his suit was too small, the leg openings were too big. As he climbed the steps, the wet fabric bunched around his shrunken thighs.

He found his glasses by the side of the pool and put them on. When he caught sight of me watching him, he reached across his body to grab the rail with his other hand. The effect was to turn his belly away and show me his back.

“You’re early,” he said. “You weren’t supposed to come back here.”

“They told me out front it was all right.”

He held himself perfectly still. All that moved were rivulets of water that dripped from the ends of his hair. He turned cautiously to look at me. His heavy glasses had slipped down to the end of his nose. I knew he wanted to push them back up but couldn’t let go of the rail. Instead, he peered over the tops, as if this were how corrective lenses were supposed to be worn.

“I’ll leave,” I said. “I’m going now. I’ll meet-”

“No. Stay here. I want to talk to you. Just…give me a minute.”

He managed to negotiate the last steps and climb onto the deck but then froze in the face of the several-foot-wide expanse that separated him from a rack of thick towels. He seemed torn between two bad options: standing in front of me with his pale body mostly exposed or lurching ungracefully toward the rack and risking a fall. I couldn’t stand it. I went to the rack, grabbed a towel, and draped it around his shoulders.