“There’s an easy way to make sure. Let’s ask Anya.”
“What?”
“Anya. Your waitress. She’s worked for you for twenty years. You just said that anyone behind the counter could have seen the gun. Well, Anya sees everything that goes on in this place. Nothing escapes her eagle eye. If there were a pistol in that drawer, she’d know. She’d also know if it disappeared. On the other hand, if the gun was taken back when Hayek worked here, that would be—let’s see, thirty-eight or thirty-nine years ago—way before Anya’s time. In which case, she’d know nothing about it. So let’s give her a call and ask her. That’ll solve the mystery, maybe even narrow down the timetable.”
“I suppose. But it’s late. And I really don’t want to involve anyone else in this.” Lenny stopped mopping the counter and planted his palms on it, leaning forward to use the counter as an anchor. “Maybe the gun wasn’t taken when George was here. Maybe it disappeared later. My memory’s not what it used to be. But I do remember that I never got a permit for it, and I didn’t want any trouble with the cops.”
“Makes sense.” Monty polished off his coffee and his honey cake. “Okay then, let’s leave it at that.” He rose. “Good luck with Jonah. I hope things work out so you can have a real relationship with your grandson.”
“Monty.” Lenny stopped him as he turned to go. “Do you really think George had something to do with the Winter murders? Do you think he came back and took the gun?”
“You mean the kid who never stole a dime from you and thought of you as a second father?” Monty shrugged. “If so, he really did a one-eighty. Either that, or he had you snowed from the start. There are people like that. And they’re capable of just about anything.”
THIRTY-FOUR
Monty was sitting in a bar, nursing a Michelob, when Lane called, gave him the green light to head over.
In five minutes flat, Monty had paid the tab, jumped in his car, and was flying uptown to Lane’s place.
Once inside, he paused only long enough to scrutinize Morgan, who was sitting on the sofa, sipping a glass of wine. “You okay, sweetie?”
She smiled slightly at the unexpected term of affection. “I’m not sure. Ask me again when the numbness wears off.”
“I will. But you’ll be fine. You were a tough kid. You’re a tougher woman. And we’re almost there.”
With that, he perched at the edge of a leather club chair, turning his attention to his son. He listened intently to what Lane had to tell him—Hayek’s alibi, his being blackmailed by a congressional friend into arranging the break-in and hit-and-run scare tactics aimed at Morgan, and the brick-throwing warning aimed at Monty, plus the whole Walther PPK story, including how Lane had come up with the idea of pursuing it.
“Great detective work,” Monty praised. “You’re definitely my kid.” His restless gaze shifted toward the photo lab. “Show me the time discrepancy you found.” He followed Lane into the lab and over to the computer, peering over his shoulder as Lane pointed out the grandfather clock, the time, and Arthur’s cold-reddened skin and windblown hair.
“That gives us opportunity,” Monty pronounced. “The Walther PPK gives us means. As far as motive…” He hesitated.
“I spoke to Karly,” Morgan supplied, having come in to hover in the doorway. “She told me my mother knew it was Arthur who’d impregnated her. She said I should give you permission to tell me everything.”
“Good.” Monty looked sober, but relieved. Quietly, he relayed everything he’d learned when he visited Healthy Healing, including Barbara’s description of the quandary Lara was facing—and how she’d reacted to it.
“So both my parents were going through moral crises,” Morgan murmured. “That explains the tension in the house, and their eagerness to whisk me away from the Kellermans’ party ASAP, instead of giving me time to play with Jill. They probably couldn’t stand the sight of Arthur. And, knowing them, they could never have lived with themselves if they’d stayed silent.” Morgan’s chin came up. “So you’ve now got your motive.”
“What about the Walther PPK?” Lane asked. “Did Lenny confirm Hayek gave it to him?”
“He more than confirmed it. He started twitching when I pressed him on it. He fell all over himself, explaining and contradicting his explanations.”
“So you think he knew. That it wasn’t Hayek he was protecting, it was Arthur.”
“I think Arthur Shore is an incredibly charming and charismatic guy who has a wife and parents who’d do anything for him—including covering up a murder. That’s why Elyse conjured up that whole scenario about the telephone hang-ups and the van. She was throwing me off track. I also have a hunch she knew Karly—Carol Fenton—was back in town. Remember, she’s had PIs swarming around Arthur for years. And she asked me lots of questions about Karly when we talked. I think she was worried I’d supply Arthur with enough details to figure out that his old flame was in town.”
A slight gasp escaped Morgan. “You don’t think Arthur knew the truth, do you? And that because of it he really targeted Karly for that hit-and-run?”
“In this case, no. Judging from the white shock on Arthur’s face when I told him Karly was Carol, I don’t think he had a clue she was in New York. I think it was just a sick coincidence. In my opinion, that scare tactic was aimed at you. You were early, Rachel was on time, and your two descriptions match. As for Karly, she just happened to be there. The fact that she was also a client of yours turned out to be a plus—especially after the double screwup Hayek’s guy made. Not only did he mistake Rachel for you, he actually hit her. I doubt that’s what Arthur had in mind.”
“So where do we go from here?” Morgan asked, folding her arms across her breasts. “Do we have enough for an arrest?”
“Nope,” Lane supplied for her. “It’s all circumstantial. Arthur’s attorney would take it apart.”
“Not if there were a witness who could place Arthur at the scene of the crime,” Monty said. “A witness who heard him arguing with Jack and Lara in the basement of the women’s shelter that night. If we had that, he’d be toast.”
Lane spun around in his computer chair. “Where the hell did you find this witness?”
“I didn’t. But Arthur doesn’t know that.” Monty whipped out his cell phone.