Тесс Герритсен - I Know a Secret

Travis opened a desk drawer, pulled out a DVD, and handed it to Jane. “A copy of I See You. It’s all yours, Detective.”

“And the movie you’re working on now? You have a DVD of Mr. Simian we can watch?”

“Sorry, we’re still editing, so it’s not ready to be seen yet. But take a look at I See You and tell us what you think. And if there’s anything else you need, we’re ready to help.”

“If this really does have something to do with I See You, should we all be worried?” Amber said. “Will the killer come after us ?”

There was a long silence as the three filmmakers considered that possibility.

It was Travis who said, softly: “It’s Horror 101.”

The sedated patient lying in the hospital bed looked nothing like the man Jane had interviewed only a few hours earlier. This was a deflated version of Matthew Coyle, gray and shrunken, his jaw sagging open. In contrast to that colorless ghost, the woman seated at his bedside was a startling splash of color: flame hair, an emerald blouse, bright-red lipstick. Though Priscilla Coyle was fifty-eight, nearly as old as Matthew, she looked at least a decade younger, her skin burnished and Botoxed, her body as toned as an athlete’s. Beside her sickly husband, she was the picture of vitality, and judging by her tailored dress and high heels, a vigil at his bedside was not what she’d planned to be doing this evening.

Priscilla glanced at her watch and said to Jane and Frost, “You’ll have to come back in the morning to speak to him. He was so agitated the doctors had to sedate him, and he’ll probably sleep straight through the night.”

“Actually, we’re here to talk to you, Mrs. Coyle,” said Jane.

“Why? I can’t really tell you anything. I spent the whole afternoon in a board meeting for the Gardner Museum. I had no idea anything was wrong until the hospital called to tell me Matthew was admitted.”

“Can we step out of the room? There’s a visitors’ lounge down the hall where we can talk.”

“I really should get home soon. There are so many people I need to notify.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” Frost assured her. “We just need to confirm some details about what happened when.”

Matthew Coyle had been admitted to Pilgrim Hospital’s VIP wing, where the visitors’ lounge featured a wide-screen TV, leather-upholstered furniture, and a well-stocked Keurig coffeemaker. Priscilla settled on the sofa, her Prada crocodile purse perched beside her, and casually slung her Cucinelli coat across the armrest. Jane had once sneaked a peek at a Cucinelli price tag, so she knew how expensive that cashmere coat was. If she ever owned such a coat, she’d keep it locked up in a safety-deposit box, not thoughtlessly toss it around as Priscilla did.

Frost pulled up a chair to face Priscilla and said, “Tell us what happened today, Mrs. Coyle.” It was an easy, open-ended question, yet Priscilla seemed to consider her answer a long time before speaking.

“Matthew was supposed to meet Cassandra for lunch at the Four Seasons. When she didn’t show up at the restaurant, he called me, asking if I’d heard from her. I hadn’t. Then a few hours later, the hospital called to tell me that he’d been admitted with a heart attack.”

“Did they often meet for lunch?”

“Hardly ever. Cassie’s so busy, she scarcely even bothers to...” Priscilla paused. Corrected herself. “She had her own life, so we didn’t see much of her. But today was a special occasion.”

“Your husband told us it was a birthday lunch.”

Priscilla nodded. “Her birthday’s actually December thirteenth, but we were out of town. So they planned to celebrate today instead.”

“You weren’t going to join them?”

“I had that board meeting already scheduled, and I didn’t think...” Priscilla’s voice faded, and she looked down to fuss with the gold clasp of her purse. It was what she didn’t say that intrigued Jane. Sometimes there was more meaning in silence than in words.

“How did you and your daughter get along?” Jane asked.

“Cassandra was actually my stepdaughter.” She shrugged. “We weren’t particularly close.”

“Were you at odds?”

At this, Priscilla looked up. “I’ll be honest. Matthew divorced Cassandra’s mother to marry me. So you can understand why we had tensions. She’s always held that against me, even though her parents’ marriage was essentially over long before Matthew and I got involved. Now it’s nineteen years later, and I’m still the other woman, even though my money paid for her tuition at NYU, and my money financed her ridiculous—” Priscilla caught herself, and she stared down at her crocodile purse again, a purse that symbolized exactly what she’d brought to the marriage. Matthew Coyle had left his wife for a woman accustomed to Prada and Cucinelli, a financial inequality that could strain any relationship.

“Do you know anyone who might want to harm Cassandra?” asked Jane. “Any ex-boyfriends, any enemies?” Aside from you .

“I’m not aware of any. But, then, I didn’t keep close tabs on her life. After Matthew and I married, Cassandra stayed behind with her mother in Brookline.”

“Where is her mother now? We need to speak to her.”

“Elaine’s in London right now, visiting friends. She’ll catch a flight home day after tomorrow. At least, that’s what she said in her email.”

“You emailed her the news about Cassandra?”

“Well, someone had to let her know.”

Jane tried to imagine receiving such an email: Your daughter’s been murdered. The hatred must run deep between these women for the news of a daughter’s death to be delivered by a few cool taps on a smartphone.

“I really don’t know what else I can tell you,” said Priscilla.

“Do you know any of Cassandra’s friends?”

Priscilla wrinkled her nose. “I’ve met those three kids she works with.”

“Kids?”

“They graduated from college four years ago, and they look like they still sleep in their clothes. You’d think by now they’d have jobs. I have no idea how they feed themselves, making those movies.”

“Did you happen to watch Cassandra’s first movie?”

“I sat through maybe fifteen minutes of I See You. It was all I could stand.” She looked in the direction of her husband’s hospital room. “Matthew sat through the whole bloody thing. Talked himself into liking it, because what else could he do? He wanted to make his little girl happy. After all these years, he’s still trying to make up for leaving her mother, and Cassie was happy to take whatever he offered. The free apartment, the studio space. But I don’t think she ever really forgave him.”

“Did they get along? Your husband and Cassandra?”

“Of course.”

“Yet you say Cassandra never forgave him. Were there arguments, maybe about money?”

“Don’t all kids fight about money with their parents?”

“Sometimes those fights get out of hand.”

Priscilla shrugged. “They had issues. I’m sure the subject of money was going to come up at their lunch today. She’s been hinting she needed more, to finish the new movie she’s making. Just another reason why I didn’t want to join them for lunch.” She paused. “Why are you asking about Matthew? You can’t possibly think he had anything to do with this?”

“Just routine questions, ma’am,” Frost said. “We always have to look at the immediate family.”

“He’s her father . Don’t you have any real suspects?”

“Do you know any, Mrs. Coyle?”

Priscilla considered the question. “Cassie was a pretty girl, and pretty girls attract attention. When you catch a man’s eye, you have no idea what that might lead to. Maybe he’ll get obsessed. Maybe he’ll follow you home and... We all know what can happen to women.”