After the Darkness

"Please!" Grace laughed bitterly. "Lenny knew what you'd done. He and John were discussing it in Nantucket. You were scared he was going to fire you, or turn you over to the authorities, so you killed him." She released the safety catch on the gun. Her hand was shaking. "I don't believe you only took three million. You took all of it. You stole all those billions and made it look like it was Lenny."

"That's not true."

"You killed him! I know it was you!" Grace was hysterical.

Andrew Preston closed his eyes. At least it would be a quick death.

I wonder if Maria will miss me?

MITCH CONNORS LAY ON HIS BED, reading. Davey Buccola was a bottom-feeder, but he was a meticulous bottom-feeder. His report was diligently researched. Of course, a lot of the information was hearsay, based on unofficial interviews with staff at the coroner's office or the Nantucket coast guard. Less than half of it would stand up in court. But the overall picture it painted, of a wealthy man surrounded by false friends, parasites and hangers-on, rang horribly true.

Mitch imagined Grace reading it. If it made him sick, how would she feel, wading through the sticky web of half-truths, greed and deception spun by her nearest and dearest? No wonder she hadn't turned to any of them when she broke out of Bedford. With friends like the Brooksteins had, who needed enemies?

The only problem with the information was that there was so much of it. Too many people had had the motive and the opportunity to do away with Lenny Brookstein. Mitch thought, Grace is following these leads, just like I am. Where would she go first?

ANDREW PRESTON OPENED HIS EYES. HE'D been waiting for Grace to shoot him, but so far the expected bullet hadn't come. He was surprised to see her cheeks were wet with tears.

"I want you to admit it," she sobbed. "I want you to say you're sorry."

"Grace. I am sorry for what I did. But I didn't kill Lenny and that's the honest truth. I was in New York the day he died. Remember?"

"I know you were. And I know what you were doing there. You were paying off a hit man." Grace reached into a rucksack and pulled out a photograph. "Donald Anthony Le Bron. I suppose you're going to tell me you don't recognize him?"

Andrew's face drained of color.

"No. I recognize him. And you're right, he is a hit man. He works for a Dominican gang known as the DDP. It stands for Dominicans Don't Play, which is something of an understatement, as it turns out." He laughed nervously. "And yes, I did hire Le Bron. But not to kill Lenny."

Grace hesitated. "Go on."

"They said they were debt collectors. 'Legitimate businessmen,' that's how they described themselves. They came to the house and showed me pictures of women being raped and mutilated. They said Maria would be next. Then a month before the Quorum Ball, one of them showed up at the office. He brought a severed finger, wrapped in a kitchen towel." Andrew closed his eyes at the memory. "I'd paid off what Maria owed by then, but they still came back for more. They wanted interest, hundreds of thousands. It was never going to end. I couldn't go to the police, in case they found out about the money I'd stolen from Quorum. So I contacted Le Bron. He and his people took care of it."

Grace tried to take this in. When she'd read the file entry about Andrew's embezzlement and learned of his contacts with the New York gang, she was sure she'd found her man. It all made sense: the thefts Lenny had discovered were the tip of the iceberg. In reality, Andrew must have been siphoning off billions from Quorum's coffers, cooking the books to make it look like Lenny was the thief. Then he'd hired a professional hit man to murder Lenny, and stood by and watched while Grace took the blame. But listening to Andrew talk, watching the horror on his face as he remembered the threats made to Maria, she was convinced he was telling her the truth.

Andrew Preston was not Lenny's killer.

It was a crushing blow.

"Lenny was like a father to me, Grace, and I betrayed him. I'll carry the guilt of that with me till the day I die. But I never wanted him dead. Not like Jack Warner."

Grace had read Davey's file on Jack, too. She knew about the gambling debts and Lenny's refusal to pay them. But it hardly amounted to a motive for murder. Besides, Jack's alibi was rock solid. The coast guard had rescued him miles away from where Lenny's boat was found.

"Jack was mad at Lenny. I know that."

"Mad?" Andrew looked surprised. "He hated him, Grace. Lenny had Warner over a barrel. He knew all of his dirty little secrets. Everyone in the Senate knew that Jack Warner was Quorum's puppet, that he voted however Lenny Brookstein told him to vote. Lenny squeezed Jack like a wet rag. The guy couldn't breathe."

Grace looked disbelieving. "I'm sure it wasn't like that. Lenny would never have blackmailed Jack. He would never have blackmailed anyone."

Andrew Preston smiled. It was a flash of the old Grace. Unquestioning, adoring, convinced that Lenny could do no wrong. Not that he blamed her. Andrew knew better than anyone what it was like to love someone so much you would defend them against all reason.

"Grace," he said gently, "whatever happened to Lenny, it happened at sea and it happened on the day of the storm. Jack was also out on the water that day, remember?"

Grace remembered. Like Michael Gray, Jack Warner was an expert sailor. Expert enough to somehow board Lenny's boat and kill him? To dump him overboard and make it look like an accident? It was possible.

"Try to find a lady called Jasmine," said Andrew. "That's the best advice I can give you. She might make you see things in a different light."

MITCH HAD GONE TO THE PRESTONS' apartment on impulse. He'd hoped to quiz Andrew about his alleged embezzlement from Quorum, but was met instead by a hysterical Maria. It was almost midnight, and Andrew hadn't called. No one had seen him since he left the office at five. She'd called the police but no one took her seriously. Mitch did. "Let me pour you a brandy, Mrs. Preston."

Had Grace taken the law into her own hands? By now, she would know that Andrew had been stealing from Lenny. What if she'd abducted him? Or worse? If Grace got it into her head that Andrew was behind Lenny's death, there was no telling what she might be capable of.

When the apartment door opened and Andrew Preston walked in, Mitch was at least as relieved as Maria. Andrew's shirt was bloodied and his nose badly bruised, but he seemed calm. Unlike his wife, who flung herself melodramatically into his arms.

"Oh, Andy, Andy! What happened? I've been out of my mind. Where have you been?"

"At the hospital. I'm fine, Maria. I had a slight accident, that's all."

"What sort of accident?"

"Ridiculous really. I slipped and fell in the rain and landed flat on my face on the sidewalk. I would have called, but I was stuck in the ER for hours. You know what those places are like. I didn't want to worry you, darling."

"Well, you did worry me. The police are here."

Maria gestured toward Mitch. Andrew Preston recognized him from the TV reports as the guy who was looking for Grace. He did his best to sound nonchalant. "My goodness. Does one errant husband warrant a search party these days? I'm sorry if I've caused any trouble, Detective."

"Not at all, Mr. Preston. I actually came to talk with you about another matter, but it can wait. I'm glad to see you home safe. Look, this is probably going to sound like a ridiculous question. But I don't suppose Grace Brookstein has tried to contact you by any chance. In the last forty-eight hours?"

Andrew looked puzzled. "Grace? Contact me? No. Why on earth would she do that?"

"No reason," said Mitch. "I'll see myself out."

LATER, IN BED, ANDREW WATCHED HIS wife sleep. I love you so much, my angel. He'd been touched by Maria's concern when he got home. Perhaps things were going to be all right between them after all?

He'd considered telling Detective Connors the truth about Grace and what had happened that afternoon. But only for a moment. Grace had spared his life and forgiven him his sins. The least he could do was return the favor.

If Lenny really had been murdered, Andrew wished Grace luck in finding his killer. Whatever the world might think, Lenny Brookstein had been a good man. Reaching across the bed for Maria, Andrew pulled her close, inhaling the heady scent of her body. The faint whiff of aftershave he detected as well brought tears to his eyes.

Andrew Preston never wore aftershave.