Surani glanced at Kepler, who at last showed a façade of sympathy. ‘I’m sorry to say, but Prescott cleaned out all the company accounts late last night. Payroll and retirement too. He moved close to twenty-five million into a bank in the Caymans and then it vanished. There’s nothing left. Not a penny.’
CHAPTER
9
10:00 a.m., Saturday
30 minutes earlier
The two made their way past the Sheep Meadow in Central Park and under the bows of trees lit by unfiltered sun. The leaves still clung to branches and the configuration of tissue and vein was as busy and colorful as a Jackson Pollock painting, changing shade and glow constantly; the wind was persistent.
Her purse over her shoulder, Gabriela carried in one hand the Tiffany bag that Daniel had brought her, and in the other a paper sack containing a walnut cream cheese bagel for her daughter.
‘Let’s go that way,’ she said, nodding.
Soon they were at the reservoir, walking wide of the path to stay clear of the many manic runners. A serious race walker, with his camel gait, overtook many of those jogging.
The conversation had turned substantive, typically morning-after-meeting, and Daniel asked about her history with Prescott Investments. She added with some passion, ‘I love the work. I mean, really love it. I was one of those people who got good grades, graduated with honors, all that. But I didn’t want to do anything practical. I was Ms Creative. That’s what was important to me: writing, drawing, design, photography mostly. A headhunter sent me to Charles Prescott. He needed a freelancer to take some photos for a brochure.’
Gabriela smiled. ‘He was asking me about using Photoshop and some other software and right in the middle of the interview he stopped me. He said, “Forget it.” I thought I was going to cry; I really needed the job. But he laughed and said, “I’ve seen your portfolio. The photos’re great. You’re an artist. But I can tell by talking to you your real talents are analysis and organization. Business.”
‘Of course, I thought he was just telling me to get lost, but then he offered me the job on the spot: office manager. Full-time, benefits, everything. At first I was insulted; I mean, I knew I was going to be a famous artist. But then I admitted maybe I didn’t want that.’
Gabriela regarded Daniel with a smile. ‘So have you learned not to ask me any questions? You get a whole Google-search of information. You going to flee?’
‘Not yet. So far, this isn’t the disaster last night turned out to be.’ Then Daniel angled his head in that charming way of his and added with just the right amount of serious, ‘But you didn’t give up your photography.’
‘Right. In fact, it was funny. I got more productive. Working full-time was liberating. I didn’t have to worry about making a living with the pictures or designing, art, writing. I could take the images that moved me. And, it turned out, Charles was right. I had a head for business. Running the office, negotiating equipment leases, planning meetings, bookkeeping … everything. Meeting Charles saved my life. I was going through the divorce and I needed some direction, some validation, you know. He became my mentor … And guess what?’
‘He never hit on you.’
‘Not once. Always a gentleman. Kind, funny. Just a wonderful man. In a business where there are a lot of people who aren’t so wonderful.’
‘I know that all too well.’
They walked slowly over the pocked sidewalk. Their shoulders brushed several times. She felt an electric charge each time that happened. ‘Funny, once or twice in your life you meet somebody who’s a good person and it changes you forever. That’s Charles.’
‘And I assume,’ Daniel said, ‘that he knows the business. He makes money.’
‘Oh, yeah. Charles’s a genius. We’ve done well.’
‘Maybe I’ll give him a call. I’m always looking for outfits to do business with. Something to think about. And does he handle your investments? Your 401(k) or annuity?’
‘He’s put me in a couple good positions …’ The words braked to a halt as she blinked, her mouth open.
Daniel was clearly struggling to keep a detached expression. Then he gave up and coughed a laugh.
‘Shit,’ she said, chuckling as well. ‘He suggested some investment strategies. I won’t become a millionaire, but when Sarah’s ready for college there’ll be money for that.’
‘Does your ex contribute?’
Interesting change of tack, she observed. She kept her voice neutral as she said, ‘Tim’s trying to find himself. I used to joke – to myself – he should look under a rock. But he’s doing the best he can, I think. It’s just, if you have children, they’re your priority. If you’re not happy at your job, suck it up until they graduate. If you’re depressed, deal with it for their sake. If the last thing in the world you feel like is another ballet recital, shut up and go.’ Gabriela clicked her tongue. ‘Okay. Nothing more from me on my ex. Now, tell me about your … kids.’
He laughed at the pregnant pause. ‘Okay, Bryce and Steven. Fifteen and seventeen.’ He described two handsome, all-American sorts of boys. He added that they were smart and never did anything worse than sneak a beer or get home an hour or so late. ‘No drugs, no fights.’
Daniel explained that he had plans for them to go to good colleges but not Ivy League. He wanted them to get solid educations but at big, diverse schools.
‘Finance? Business?’
‘I wouldn’t mind it. Capitalism’s been good to me. It’s exciting. I love it. But whatever they’re happy with is the main thing. That’s the only way to be a success. Who knows? Maybe they’ll be artists, writers or photographers … Anyway, does anybody really know what they want to do until they’re thirty?’
Not far away an elegant horse, ridden by an attractive young brunette in full gear, cantered along the bridle path.
He asked, ‘You have your camera? You could take a picture for Sarah.’
‘No, I don’t carry it around generally. Besides, I’ve taken lots of horse pictures.’
They watched the beautiful creature disappear north, striding toward Harlem.
She was silent. Daniel frowned and glanced up the sidewalk.
‘What?’
‘Just thought I saw somebody looking our way.’ The light grew fierce and he pulled on Ray-Bans.
She looked. ‘I don’t see anybody.’
‘Imagination, maybe. Some man, I thought. In a dark overcoat.’
They continued their stroll to her apartment, looking over some of the vendor carts. Used books, CDs, food, of course. Always food.
Then Gabriela sensed Daniel’s body language shift. He said, ‘That complication you were telling me about at the restaurant? How much of a complication is he?’ He glanced back once more, to the spot where he thought someone had been watching them.
‘Frank Walsh isn’t going to be following me.’
‘No? Are you sure? Wait, is he bigger than me?’
She sized up Daniel’s athletic shoulders, arms and chest. ‘If it comes down to a fight, I think you’ll win.’
He exhaled. ‘Then I’ll relax.’
‘Seriously,’ she said. ‘Frank is a nice guy. He’s dependable. He’s … sweet.’
Daniel began to laugh hard at the telling word.
‘I’m there.’ She pointed to a nondescript building up a cross street, affordable only because of the bizarre but kind rent laws in New York City.
Daniel began to say something but at that moment two men in suits, which didn’t fit particularly well, approached with obvious intent.
They didn’t come from the place in the park where Daniel had believed he’d spotted their follower, Gabriela noted.
One of the men, Anglo and tanned, wore aviator shades; the other, of Indian – South Asian – extraction, wore those glasses that dimmed automatically in the sun. Gabriela blinked, looking down at their NYPD badges and ID cards.
‘You’re Gabriela McKenzie.’
‘Yes. I … Yes, I am. Who are you?’
The one with the aviator sunglasses said briskly, ‘I’m Detective Kepler, this is Detective Surani. Could we talk to you for a moment?’
CHAPTER
8
9:00 a.m., Saturday
1 hour earlier
They sat across from each other in the spattered window of Irving’s Deli, Upper West Side.
The restaurant, a mash of linoleum, dinged chrome and worn wood, was chaotic. The smells were of garlic, fish, bagel steam, toast, coffee. Mismatched perfume and aftershave, too, sprayed on in lieu of shower; on Saturday, why preen?
The day was beautiful, a bright Saturday in September, and people were swarming. Many locals were at tables and in the queues, but many ‘interlopers,’ too, as Gabriela said.
‘You mean from my ’hood,’ Daniel called over the ocean-roar of the patrons. ‘The TriBeCa?’
‘We’re thinking of requiring passports for you people to cross Fourteenth Street,’ she said.
‘That’s profiling,’ Daniel said.
They returned to their food.
She thought it curious that Daniel wore a suit on the weekend – gray like yesterday, though a different cut and a dress shirt of blush pink. No tie. Had he planned to attend a meeting later? Or was he simply more comfortable not wearing casual clothes? Gabriela was in tan stretch pants, a burgundy sweater, pearls too. Ankle boots. He’d looked at her figure once – when he thought she wasn’t paying attention. The sweater was tight.
The table was small and she adjusted the distinctive turquoise Tiffany bag on the corner. ‘Thanks again for this.’
‘The least I could do.’
Daniel asked where exactly she lived, relative to the deli, which was on Broadway, near 75th.
Gabriela grimaced. ‘About four blocks away. I come here way too often. The hips I have, I have Irving’s to thank for.’ Her eyes swept around the counter, piled high with every imaginable taste. ‘Kosher, I’ve learned, does not mean low calories.’ She paused, frowning. ‘I’m waiting.’
Daniel tapped his forehead with a palm. ‘What hips?’
‘Too little, too late.’
‘But obviously you work out.’
‘I’ll give you a few points for that,’ she said.
Daniel looked philosophical. ‘You notice when men say to women, “Oh, you work out,” it’s a come-on line. When women ask it, they want to know if he’s going to cuddle in bed on Sunday mornings or get up at dawn for a date with his Adidas.’
‘I’d have to think about it. Was that a come-on line?’
Daniel asked, ‘You want some jam?’
Breakfast was coffee, pumpernickel bagels and smoked salmon. No onions. ‘Onions are a fourth- or fifth-date thing,’ Gabriela announced.
‘Is this a date?’
She was thinking about last night. Her response was, ‘I don’t know that we need to overthink it.’
‘Fair enough. But you manage an investment house and I run a venture capital firm. We’re professional overthinkers. No?’
‘True,’ she said.
‘But it’s not overthinking it to say we survived a completely excruciating last night.’
‘No, that’s accurate.’
He frowned. ‘You’re picking at your food. Can I have that piece of salmon? The lonesome one on the side?’
‘Yours.’
He speared and ate it. ‘What’re your plans for today?’
‘I pick Sarah up at one from dance class. And we spend the rest of the weekend together.’
‘You two have a great time. I can tell.’
‘Oh, we do.’ Her eyes grew wide. ‘We go to American Girl and FAO, naturally. But MOMA and the Met too. Sarah asks to go to the art museums. She’s so smart. I have to keep reminding myself she’s only six.’
‘Smart. So she’s got your genes.’
‘She got my temperament genes. Ah, I think I just sniped at my ex again. I told myself I wasn’t going to do that.’
They nodded to the young man server for coffee refills. And thanked him. Daniel looked her over with a coy smile. ‘Is this where you tell me about the complication?’
Gabriela laughed hard. ‘You make your clients a ton of money, I’ll bet. With that kind of insight.’
‘No engagement ring,’ Daniel said, glancing toward her finger. ‘You’re beautiful – which by the way is less of a come-on line than “Wow, you totally work out.” I just have a feeling there has to be a complication.’
‘Okay. There’s this tiny complication.’
‘How tiny?’
‘Stop it!’ She laughed again. ‘His name’s Frank. Frank Walsh.’
‘What an awful name,’ Daniel said, wrinkling his perfect nose.
‘Are you listening?’
‘Tell me about Frank,’ he said, thumping the last word with his lips. ‘I’m dying to know about complicating Frank.’
‘You’re mean! We date some.’
‘Are you going to marry him?’
After a pause: ‘Fact is, he’s a little more interested in me than I am in him.’
‘Never heard of that happening before,’ Daniel said sardonically. ‘I actually got proposed to by a woman on a first date. She popped the question as soon as she heard I had a job. I’m not making that up. But I should add that there was some tequila involved.’
‘Did you say yes?’
‘To what?’ Daniel asked with feigned innocence.
She continued, ‘Frank’s quirky – he’s a computer nerd. And reclusive. But he knows movies – which I love – and he’s funny and considerate. You don’t find that a lot nowadays.’
‘Here’s my guideline,’ Daniel said. ‘The sweet factor.’
‘Sweet?’
‘If you describe your present love interest as infuriating and exasperating, then you’re in love. If you say he’s sweet, it’s doomed and you need to ditch him pronto – for somebody who infuriates you.’
‘I’m withholding all future adjectives about Frank for the time being.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t have to be at the dance school for a while. Want to walk me back to my apartment?’
‘Good idea,’ he said, ‘it’ll help work some of that excess weight off your hips.’
‘Nice try. But you’re not infuriating me. Yet.’ She took his fork, which contained his last piece of salmon, dunked the pink cube in sour cream and ate it fast.
II
CHAPTER
7
10:00 p.m., Friday
11 hours earlier
‘You know, I have to be honest,’ Gabriela told Daniel Reardon. ‘This’s been about as bizarre an evening as I can remember. Are you offended? I didn’t mean to offend you.’
He made no comment about her assessment. Instead he asked, ‘But was it a date?’
She thought for a moment. ‘It was date-like.’
‘Date-lite?’
‘Like,’ she corrected.
‘Ah.’
They were walking north on Broadway from Battery Park through the cool September evening. A checkerboard of windows in the nearby office buildings. Many illuminated, some dark. The worlds of law and finance never rest, even Friday night. The streets were still busy with traffic if dwindling of pedestrians. Limos queued in front of the posher buildings.
‘Bizarre,’ he repeated quizzically. ‘The restaurant, you mean?’
Well, that was part of it. They’d eaten in a dive of an Indian place, curry and tikka and Kingfisher beer. The air had been tropically humid and heavy with sandalwood, the canned sitar music corny and the food perhaps the best South Asian cuisine she’d ever had. The feature dominating the room was a massive saltwater aquarium, easily ten thousand gallons. Gabriela had been captivated by the colorful fish, which eased, or darted, throughout the tank. Shrimp was on the menu, she noted, but no other seafood was represented. (‘Good thing,’ she’d told him, nodding at the aquarium. ‘Just wouldn’t be right.’)
