Читать книгу Head To Head - Linda Ladd - Страница 14

The Cedar Bend helipad was located at the tip of the point, where Black kept his private quarters and office. I was seething inside when I arrived there early the next morning, but I was the picture of calm tranquility, pure Zen, as Miki the Poodle ushered me through palatial marble halls to Black’s lavish tan-and-black office. Ten leather-framed Rorschach inkblot designs lined one wall, and I studied each one in turn. In my present mood, they all looked like the devil to me. I stood in front of a windowed wall and watched the sun come up.

Not long after, the dull, insistent buzz of rotors infiltrated my glass sanctuary, and the Bell 430 helicopter Harve had described the night before came barreling into sight. Surprise, surprise, guess what color it was? Nicholas Black probably raised black-and-tan coonhounds, too.

I watched the copter bank right as graceful as a gull, then straighten and head home. Black was precisely on time. Well, good. The sooner I got my hooks in him, the better. Thanks to Doctor Ain’t I Somethin’, media vans were rolling to the lake in swarms, like killer bees but with deadlier stingers.

I stood in Black’s penthouse office. It had its own third-floor wing, did I mention that? Gee, I’m impressed. The craft set down expertly on the round concrete pad, and I watched the wind from the rotors blast the calm water out in concentric circles. A security guard in uniform rushed to open the door for Black, but it wasn’t Suze Eggers. Maybe Eggers annoyed Black, too.

Decked out in a dark blue suit, white shirt, and red tie—nothing casual here—Nicholas Black stepped out, still talking into a cell phone. He thrust off a briefcase to the security guard, who trotted after him like a trusty beagle, as he bent low and made his way swiftly up a wide dock of bleached wood lined with about a dozen berths, each with its own Cobalt 360. All black and tan, of course.

My God, I’d been transported to Palm Beach. Where were the polo ponies and Prince Charles? Did I mention my penchant for sarcasm? Yeah, well, ostentatious wealth is a big trigger, let me tell you.

I watched him until he disappeared somewhere below. My mouth watered in anticipation. My fingers twitched. My eyes lit up. Armed with a fifty-page dossier about him memorized in my head, I was ready to put my foot on his chest and force him to confess.

I wondered if Miki Tudor was the one on the phone with Black. I turned and observed through an open door that Miki was at her pretty little white desk across the hall, her usual sleek self dressed in white with pearls all shiny around her neck. It looked like she was doing her nails, but she could have been admiring her big diamond ring. But I’d know if they’d talked again after she apprised him of the murder; I’d already requested both Black’s and Miki’s phone records.

I rolled back my shoulders like the kick-boxer I am, ready, willing, and eager. I was good at interviews, even with psychiatrists. I waited. Impatient. Resisting the urge to pace, I stood still. The complex was connected to Black’s private quarters, essentially a French chateau with a massive glass atrium walkway. Maybe he went next door to Buckingham Palace to admire all his stuff. That might take some time. Maybe he was on the phone to the president, advising him on the war against terror. Maybe he was wiping his fingerprints off everything he touched, just in case he killed somebody else and threw them a tea party under the lake.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Detective.”

A deep, masculine voice out of nowhere. I spun around and found Nicholas Black right behind me. The mirrored doors of the elevator slid soundlessly together, creating a seamless wall of mirrors. Clever, clever. I bet it was a one-way mirror, too, so Black didn’t walk into any surprises. He came straight to me, the briefcase in his left hand, right hand extended to shake. I took it. His clasp was firm and dry. So was mine.

“Nick Black. Fill me in on what you’ve got so far.”

“Claire Morgan, Canton County Sheriff detective.”

“I know who you are. Miki told me you wanted to meet me here as soon as I got in. Sorry, I’m an early riser.” He smiled and gestured at a chair. “Please, sit down. Would you like some breakfast? Or a cup of coffee? I’m having one. Miki makes terrific coffee.”

“Gee, how nice for you.”

Black raised an eyebrow, and I decided to tone it down. He was a tone detector. Time to shift to the polite, “let’s be civilized and have coffee together” mode.

Like an apparition in the mist, Miki floated in wearing her all-white business suit, including hose and strappy high heels, and carrying a silver tray that held a coffee urn, a silver creamer, and two white cups and saucers. Fine white china with a narrow band of black and gold around the rims. No monogram or design. Simple but elegant. The same kind of china used under the water with Sylvie and everywhere else at the resort. I settled into the tufted, tan leather armchair across from Black’s massive ebony desk. It was polished to such a gleaming patina that I could see the clouds in the sky behind him reflected in the top.

I thanked Miki and balanced the cup and saucer on my lap, atop a crisp white linen napkin. I watched her leave, then said, “Ms. Tudor is a very efficient assistant.”

The way I said it was designed to make him think I suspected more was between them than an employer/assistant relationship. Black obviously picked up on it, because he studied me a moment, then chose to ignore the remark. His reaction was more effective than acknowledging my insinuation. He knew that. I knew that. He said, “Miki’s a treasure, all right. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She keeps everything running around here.”

He does like his lackeys, I thought, Sycophants Unlimited, and then stopped myself. I was exhibiting the kind of chip-on-the-shoulder attitude that could jeopardize my case. I didn’t usually react so strongly to people, but the man brought it out in me. He might be phony, but he wasn’t stupid, so I changed my approach. “I appreciate your seeing me first thing, Doctor Black.”

“Please, call me Nick. And I’m glad to talk to you. Sylvie was a special person. Very special to me. I want her killer caught and punished. I promised her parents I’d see to it.”

“Are you in the habit of making promises you have no way of keeping?”

Black’s eyes delved into mine, searching, analyzing. I felt like his patient but stared back without blinking until he said, “I intend to cooperate in every way possible. Her parents are distraught, understandably so. They asked me to intercede with the authorities and the media on their behalf, and I felt obligated to do so.”

“Then you are well acquainted with Sylvie Border’s parents, I take it?”

Black picked up the silver creamer and dribbled about a teaspoon of cream into his cup. Every movement was easy and graceful, while nonchalantly masculine. He held the creamer toward me. I shook my head. “I take mine black.”

His eyes lingered on my face a moment too long; then he replaced the creamer on the tray. He didn’t add sugar. He was one handsome fella, yes, sir, and mercy me. Charisma radiated from him like heat off the burning desert sands. I wasn’t so out of the romance game that I couldn’t feel it. Sexual chemistry was alive and well, and almost a tangible presence, as if it stood personified between us and laughed when I tried to step around it. I wondered if he felt it. Because I sure as hell did. But it wasn’t ever going to happen.

I raised my cup, took a ladylike sip. Not that I’m much of a lady, but I do know how to sip—I just put my foot down at crooking my little finger. The coffee was good and strong, brewed to perfection, no decaffeinated crap for Nicholas Black. Perfect Miki strikes again.

Black resumed the conversation. He said, “I don’t know them extremely well. We’ve met on several occasions, and I found them to be nice people. I knew them well enough to want to break such horrible news in person before they heard it on TV.”

“Did you also feel obligated to break the horrible news to the whole world on CNN, or was that simply a publicity stunt to promote your new book?”

Black’s facial expression didn’t waver, but I watched something move in those blue eyes, something that hinted at danger. “I sense a certain hostility in you, Detective. Do you think I killed Sylvie? Is that what this is all about? Or do you just exhibit this chip on your shoulder as a matter of course?”

“Oh, it’s a matter of course, I guess. Especially when I’ve just brought up a beautiful young woman who spent the night under the lake being nibbled by carp. And you were her only known visitor the night of her murder.”

He didn’t look away, but he waited until he’d taken a drink and replaced the cup on the saucer, then said, “I suppose I’m the primary suspect until you verify my alibi?”

“Everybody’s a suspect until we verify their alibi. Tell me about the last time you saw Ms. Border alive.” I pulled my notepad and pencil out of my purse and moved to the edge of my chair like Lois Lane at the Daily Planet. He made me wait. Choosing words carefully?

“It was the night before last, just before I left for New York.”

“And where was that?”

“I went down to her bungalow.”

“What time was that?”

“I guess it was around nine o’clock, but it could’ve been nine-thirty, or even ten.”

“When did you leave?”

“I stayed about thirty minutes or an hour, I guess. She was getting ready for bed. She said she’d gone running earlier in the evening with Miki and was tired. We sat outside on the deck and watched the water.”

I jotted without looking up. “Are you sure about these times, Doctor Black?”

“Fairly certain. I’m guessing, so they could be off some.”

Lie number one and still counting. I said, “What was the purpose of your visit to Ms. Border’s private bungalow?”

I watched him now for hesitation or signs of guilt. He stared back as if he knew what I was doing and how to get around it. I had an uncomfortable feeling he could hold his own in any police interrogation. Then again, I am not half-bad when I’m really motivated.

“She called up here and asked if she could borrow my car over the weekend, so I drove it down to her bungalow.”

“Did she say why she wanted to use the car?”

“She said she needed to go to the grocery store and then pick up some things at the mall.”

“Did she ever use your car before that night?”

“Last weekend, on Sunday afternoon. Shopping. Sylvie loved to shop.”

I heard the sorrow thicken his voice now, and it seemed real enough. On the other hand, the surveillance camera showed his car leaving around midnight. Maybe I could make him dig that hole a couple of feet deeper. “How did you get home that night?”

“I walked along the lake. It’s quicker than following the road back. It was a beautiful night with a full moon and lots of stars. I like walking at night. It helps me think.”

He had adroitly covered himself with a viable story. “What did you have to think about, Doctor Black?”

“I was a little worried about Sylvie. I have other cases that dwell on my mind, as well.”

“Why were you worried about Sylvie?”

“She wasn’t happy, and she wouldn’t say why.”

“And what time did you say you left her bungalow?”

“About ten or ten-thirty. I had to get back and pack. We took off at midnight.”

“We?”

“My flight crew and myself.”

“Did you have sex with Sylvie that night?”

For the first time, anger sparked in his eyes, then turned into the blue ice Dottie had described.

“Certainly not. I told you already that she was a friend, Detective. A good friend and a patient. We never had sex, nor would I ever have sex with any patient. I’m sure you know that would violate the doctor/patient relationship.”

I’d riled him, and that was a good thing. Riled people made mistakes and said stupid things. “I meant no offense, Doctor. I’m just doing my job.”

He relaxed and smiled, teeth white and even, a veritable Crest commercial. I wondered if they were capped, or at the least, bleached. “I have nothing to hide. Eliminate me as soon as possible so you can move on and find out who did this.”

“Thanks for the tip on police procedure. I think I’ll take you up on that and see if I can’t find the killer.” I can get a little sarcastic sometimes.

“You’re a very angry lady, aren’t you? It’d be interesting to find out why.”

“Sorry. I don’t believe in paying a thousand dollars to lie around on a couch and tell somebody my secrets. Seems like a stupid thing to do.” I smiled ingratiatingly. “And besides, what I am doesn’t matter in this investigation, Doctor Black. It’s you we’re investigating.” For effect, I looked down at my notes. “Did Ms. Border act oddly or say anything out of the norm when you saw her that night?”

“Actually, she did. Like I said, she was unhappy, and she’d been upset all week. I’d noticed how stressed out she was in our first session, but we’d been making progress. She was relaxed and happy for a day or two; then all of a sudden, she reverted back to the way she was when she got here.”

“What was she upset about?”

“I’m afraid that is privileged information, Detective.”

We stared at each other, assessing, probing, panting. He’s enjoying this, I realized, but the trouble is, I am, too. Not good. Not smart. I found myself wanting to best him, put him down. How unprofessional was that? I shrugged out of that coat and said, “Did she mention anyone, having a fight with a boyfriend, somebody harassing her, anything like that?”

“Since it has already been reported in the press, I can say that she’s having a love affair with an actor. She said he’d called earlier that evening, and she’d hung up on him.”

“Did she seem angry?”

“Not particularly, but Sylvie is a good actress. I always keep that in mind when I treat actors.”

“Was it usual for her to put on an act with as good a friend as you claim to be?”

“We were good friends,” he said calmly. Casually, he crossed his legs, put his elbows on the chair’s armrests, and steepled his fingers. I had a feeling that was one of his favorite contemplative psychiatrist positions. He could probably daydream about buying more big toys doing that, and patients wouldn’t be the wiser. I also had a feeling I’d gotten the last spark of anger out of him that I was going to get. He went on, “When she didn’t want to talk about her problems, she’d hide behind facades. We all do that. Even you, I suspect.”

I gave no reaction. So what if it was true?

“You look familiar,” he said suddenly, and I tried not to react but with more difficulty.

“I’ve seen you somewhere before; I’m sure of it. I thought so the first minute I saw you.”

“Maybe I gave you a speeding ticket.”

“I’d definitely remember being stopped by you, Detective.” His eyes were ravaging my person as he tried to remember. Our mutual friend, Mr. Sexual Awareness, flexed his muscles this way and that, back in our faces big time. “We crossed paths somewhere, trust me. I’ve got a knack for remembering faces.”

I’d had enough of that subject. “You’re mistaken. We’ve never met. Can anybody vouch for the time you arrived home from Ms. Border’s bungalow on the night of the murder?”

Black shook his head. “I never keep my personal staff past five o’clock unless something special is going on. Most of them have families to get home to, and I try to remember that. Do you have a husband and children to get home to, Detective Morgan?”

“Did anyone see you walking home from Sylvie’s bungalow? Another guest, perhaps, or a room service waiter?”

“Not that I am aware of.”

“Do you know the whereabouts of your black Porsche at this moment?”

For the first time, his surprise registered clearly. It seemed genuine. “I assumed it was still at Sylvie’s place.”

I took advantage of his disconcertment. “How long have you known Ms. Border?”

He hesitated and spoke so carefully that I knew he was hiding something. “I’ve been treating her for a couple of years, but I’ve known her for a long time. Since she was very young.”

I sensed I was on to something at last, so I attached myself to the subject like an octopus sucker. “In what capacity, Doctor Black?”

“She modeled some in New York, before she got her big break on the soaps. My ex-wife introduced us.”

“Your ex-wife is the supermodel known as Jude. Is that correct, Doctor Black?”

“You do your homework. Yes, she is, but we’ve been divorced for years.”

I jotted that down. I’m good at jotting. I came at him from a different angle. “Was Ms. Border in love with you?”

His arresting blue eyes reacted, but not enough for me to get a bead on the reason why. I really, truly hate interviewing psychiatrists. Actually, I hate psychiatrists period. They were trained to take any question or comment without reacting. They were dynamite on the witness stand, and Nicholas Black was better at it than most.

“As I said before, I never become involved with patients. Never. I can’t state it more unequivocally than that.”

“Not even emotionally?”

“Like you, Detective, I’ve trained myself to remain unemotional.” He was studying me again, and I tried not to fidget. “Have you ever lived in New York, Detective?”

Yeah, right, like I was going to start answering his questions. “What kind of person was Ms. Border?”

“Basically, she was a good kid. She had some problems, including a drug habit that got her in trouble, but I was helping her get clean.”

“Any other kinds of problems?”

“Come now, Detective, you know as well as I do that I’m not going to tell you anything discussed in my confidential therapy sessions with Sylvie.”

“Not even if it would help us find her killer?”

“Perhaps, if I thought it could catch the animal who did this to her, and if I had permission from the family. But neither of those things is likely to happen.”

“How did Sylvie seem to you that last night?”

“I told you. She was sad and upset. I think she was depressed about her boyfriend.”

“You mean Gil Serna.”

“You’re very good, Detective. I’m impressed.”

“I try. Was it Gil Serna who called that night and upset her?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He thought she was down here to have a fling with me.”

“But that was groundless, of course.”

“Of course.”

“What time did you say you arrived at her bungalow?”

Black smiled, as if well aware I was probing his story for inconsistencies. “Sometime between nine and ten.”

“How long did you stay?”

“Thirty minutes to an hour.”

“Was Sylvie serious about Gil?”

“Enough so that Sylvie was going to buy him a Porsche for his birthday. That’s another reason she wanted to borrow mine. To test-drive it.”

“You didn’t mention that reason a minute ago.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“That’s an expensive car. From what you’ve said, the two of them didn’t sound happy enough together for her to spend that kind of money on him.”

“Everyone is different in the way they choose to show their love for another.”

“What is Gil Serna like?”

“He’s insanely jealous. She kept trying to make him feel secure in her love but without much luck.”

“Insanely? Is that your professional opinion? Do you think Gil Serna is capable of murder?”

“You know what they say. Everybody’s capable of murder under the right circumstances. I’m sure you’ve encountered that kind of person yourself, Detective.”

The remark hit too close to home, and I fought back rising memories and the pain they brought with them.

Black noticed that, too. He frowned slightly and narrowed his eyes. “If Serna is the one, Detective Morgan, I hope you can prove it.”

“Rest assured, Doctor,” I said.

“You’re very confident, aren’t you? And now that I’ve met you, somehow I think you will solve this case. You’ve got steel in your eyes. Were you born around here?”

“If you don’t mind, sir, I prefer to ask the questions.”

“Fine.”

“Did you say Ms. Border was making progress under your care?”

“Yes. She was feeling much better. We’d made some important breakthroughs. She was rethinking how she felt about things.”

“She had a tendency to blame herself for her problems?”

“Sometimes, especially in romantic situations. She was insecure.”

“Yet she seemed to have it all—looks, money, fame.”

“Sometimes people hide their misery behind those kinds of facades. It’s called self-preservation.”

Something about the way he looked at me made me wonder if I should slap on some more bricks and mortar to my own facade.

“Has the cause of death been determined?” he asked suddenly. This time I could see his pain quite clearly. He had cared about Sylvie Border, and a hunch told me there was more to their relationship than what he intimated.

“Not officially. Why do you ask?”

“Miki described how she was found. It cuts me to think she suffered long.”

My cell phone began to play the “Mexican Hat Dance” song, and I pulled it off my belt.

Bud said, “It’s me, and we got a hit on the surveillance tapes. A busboy showed up at Sylvie’s place around ten-thirty, went in the gate, and didn’t come out. Guess who has a rape record and didn’t show up for work today? Our old friend Troy Inman. Meet me at the station, and we’ll go get him.”

“I’ll be there in ten.”

Nicholas Black watched me stand up and replace my phone. “Something important has come up, I presume?”

“Doctor Black, I’d like to continue this later, if you’ll grant me the time.”

He stood and retrieved a white linen business card from a gold desk holder. He took a pen and scribbled something on the back of it. “This is my private cell phone number. You can reach me on it at any time. I’ll do anything I can to help you find out who did this.”

I nodded, glad to hear it, and took his card, because I wasn’t done with him yet, not by a long shot.