And suddenly it made sense. It was a mark, however unintentional, just like Zorro’s. An initial. In reverse form, because it had been carved into Jack’s face by a punch. But when viewed as a mirror image—it was the letter L.
THE YOGA ROOM was dark, removed from the main section of the gym. Which made it perfect for what Monty had in mind.
He led Arthur Shore down the hall, opening the door and assessing the congressman’s demeanor as he blew by Monty and into the room. Stance rigid, anger emanating from every pore, Arthur was the essence of a man about to be wrongfully accused.
He stopped in the center of the room, waiting as Monty flipped on the lights. With the room illuminated, Monty could see that Arthur’s eyes were ablaze, his body language confrontational. But beneath that great show of bravado, Monty could sense the fear, the worry. Congressman Shore was sweating it—and nobody deserved it more.
With visible irritation, Arthur glanced around. The yoga room was furnished with nothing but a mauve rug, soothing landscape paintings, lavender candles, and a dozen purple yoga mats.
“Grab a Lifecycle,” Monty urged, shutting the door behind them and pointing to one of the bikes that had been lined up against the wall in here to clear the gym for the party. “From what I hear, the seats are pretty comfortable.”
“I’ll stand.” Arthur folded his arms across his chest. “Fine. Once again, you’ve dragged me off for some clandestine talk. What’s this one about—Jonah?”
“Nope.” Monty remained standing as well, although he perched his bottle of water on a Lifecycle seat and leaned his elbows on the handlebars. “This one makes your statutory rape seem minor in comparison. That’s why I picked this room, stark though it is, to talk. I wanted maximum privacy—not out of respect for you, but out of respect for your family.”
“Ah. Another ugly insinuation session.”
“No insinuations. Truths. Facts about the Winter double homicide. But you already knew that. It’s the reason you excused yourself and came with me. It’s also why you’re scared shitless. Well, you should be. I’d bet my entire pension on it. In fact, I’d donate it to your next campaign. And since there’s a snowball’s chance in hell I’d do that, you should realize how sure I am that I’m right.”
Monty’s jaw tightened, and he leaned forward, his hands gripping the Lifecycle. “While you’ve been sending me on wild-goose chases, I’ve been accumulating facts. For example, your ongoing friendship with George Hayek. You really had the poor guy going; he believed the crap you gave him about scaring Morgan off for her own good. You even threatened to use your influence in high places to alter his government status, just to ensure his cooperation. You got it, too. Maybe a little bit too much. You didn’t plan on Rachel Ogden being hit by that van, did you? In fact, you didn’t plan on Rachel Ogden at all. You wanted to scare Morgan. When that didn’t do the trick, you had Hayek send some punk over to trash the brownstone and leave that frightening display on Morgan’s bed. Incidentally, smart move getting both girls out of the house that night. Ordering me to put extra security on them, then having them stay at your place while the dirty deed was done. Nice plan. The final touch was good, too. Having Hayek send a few thugs to smash my windshield and run me off the Taconic. It didn’t faze me—other than the damage they did to my car—but it did upset Morgan.”
A red flush was creeping up Arthur’s neck. “You’re crazy.” He groped inside his jacket pocket, reaching for his cell phone. “I’m calling my lawyer.”
“Don’t waste your time.” Monty waved away the idea. “Wait until it matters. This isn’t an official interrogation. I’m a PI now, remember? Not a cop. Miranda rights don’t mean squat to me. This is personal. When I turn that evidence over to the D.A.—the one who’s itching to convict Jack Winter’s real killer—then call your lawyer. You’ll need him.”
Arthur’s hand slid back to his side. “What evidence?”
“Ah, I’ve captured your interest. Let’s see. How about a grandfather clock that contradicts the time you said you were missing from the Kellerman party by an hour and a half? How about the fact that you were actually MIA during the precise time Jack and Lara Winter were being killed? Oh, and by the way, you know that alibi you gave me? You should have been a little more thorough in your research. Nice job finding someone who fit the profile of an Arthur’s Angel and who’s now conveniently dead. Unfortunately, you didn’t dig deep enough. Margo Adderly had a family. I located her sister. She’s lived in Manhattan for twenty-five years. Every Christmas Eve, she and Margo got together at her place, including the Christmas Eve in question. So Margo might be dead, but her sister just shot your alibi to hell.”
A muscle was pulsing at Arthur’s temple.
“No response?” Monty inquired. “That’s okay, I’ve got enough to say for both of us.”
He paused to take a quick swig of water. “Let’s get back to George Hayek. Fascinating that years ago he gave your dad a Walther PPK—one that was cooperative enough to vanish sometime after the murders. Fair warning, by the way. Lenny was a wreck when I questioned him. I have no doubt he’ll crack on the stand and blurt out whatever he knows. I’ll have to remember to stress that to the D.A. As for Elyse—too bad she can’t be called to testify against her husband. She’d crack, too. You know, the whole BS story about telephone hang-ups, being followed, seeing that van? She’d throw herself in front of a speeding train for you. That’s why she accepted the whole Carol Fenton fiasco, right up through the pregnancy. Of course, like you, she didn’t know about Jonah. She thought Carol had the abortion. She also didn’t expect you to kill to protect your secret.”
Exhaling sharply, Monty gave a sympathetic shake of his head. “That must have been the toughest part for her to live with. Her best friend from college. Murdered by you. Talk about guilt. I can’t imagine the demons your wife’s had to fight all these years. Tell me, did raising Lara and Jack’s daughter help? Did it make you feel like you were off the hook just a little?”
“Shut up,” Arthur snapped. “Elyse and I love Morgan. We raised her as our own.”
“I rest my case.”
“You don’t have a case.” Arthur’s eyes were blazing. “You have a pile of circumstantial crap. Who I wasn’t with, where I wasn’t, doesn’t matter. You need to prove where I was.”
“I can do that, too.” Monty jerked his thumb toward the gym. “What would you say if I told you I just found out that one of the guests Lara invited to that fateful Christmas party showed up early? What if I said that when she arrived, that guest heard Lara and Jack arguing downstairs with a man whose voice she recognized intimately—yours?”
Beads of perspiration were beginning to dot Arthur’s forehead. “You’re lying. If that were the case, she’d have come forward sooner.”
“If she’d known what had happened, she would have. But she didn’t. She was sequestered away, having her baby, then hopping on
a plane and getting the hell out of New York, cutting all ties with her old life—on your orders. She’s been in L.A. all this time, with no idea the Winters had been murdered and there was a killer at large. She was transferred back here several months ago. And she first heard about the murders and the wrongful conviction when the news broke. She read that Lara had a daughter named Morgan, put two and two together, and after the hit-and-run, came to me with what she knew. That gives us motive, means, and opportunity.” Monty’s lips thinned into a cold, grim line. “Game, set, match.”
LANE BURST INTO the gym, not even bothering to remove his coat, just blowing by the attendant and into the room. He and Morgan spotted each other simultaneously, and he covered the distance between them in long strides, gripping her shoulders tightly.
“Where are Monty and Arthur?”
“In the yoga room.” She pointed, her eyes wide and questioning. “Having it out. They’ve been in there for almost half an hour.”
Scrutinizing the room, Lane found the man he was looking for.