I'll Be Watching You Part 26

She was sipping her second cup of the strong black liquid when the phone rang. Caller ID told her it was Reed.

She lifted the receiver. "Hi," she said, tucking it in the crook of her shoulder. "I hope you got more sleep than I did."

"I didn't." Reed sounded like h.e.l.l. "I want to find this nut job and get him out of your life."

"You're not alone. I had horrible nightmares every time I shut my eyes. Whoever this guy is, he's still out there. That makes my skin crawl. On top of that, I can't shake this feeling that something terrible's about to happen. I've felt that way ever since my conversation with Jonathan."

Reed grunted. "Yeah, well, it sounded like a pretty weird conversation. I don't know if it was because he'd had too much to drink, or if he's really delusional. But you can be d.a.m.ned sure I intend to find out." A weighted pause. "I've got a heavy-duty meeting at the office this afternoon. I have no idea how long it'll run. But I'll call you when it's over, either before you leave for your counseling session or later, on your cell phone."

Taylor didn't miss the sober note in Reed's tone. "This is the meeting, isn't it? The one that's going to change the course of things for you?"

"Yup, this is it."

She searched for the right words to say, wanting to offer him the same kind of emotional support he'd been offering her. "Reed, I know we haven't been able to get into this issue too deeply. But I know it's a biggie. I also have a pretty good idea what it's about, or at least what the crux of it is. I hope it turns out the way you want it to. Just know that I'll be thinking of you. And that I'm here whenever you want to talk."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. "Thank you." He sounded more moved than she'd expected. "I mean it. Your being there for me--it means a great deal."

Taylor smiled. "Even a knight in shining armor needs a lady fair. Who else would cheer him on?"

"True. Just be aware that this particular knight needs this particular lady to do the cheering. No one else will do."

"I won't forget."

"I'll call you later." Reed paused. "And Taylor ... be careful."

Her smile vanished. "I will."

9:30 A.M.

HARTER, RANDOLPH & COLLINS.

Reed was reviewing a deposition when his intercom buzzer sounded. Absently, he pressed the b.u.t.ton. "Yes, Cathy?" "Mr. Harter just came in," she announced in a hushed, strained tone. "Mr. Randolph and Mr. Collins are with him. They buzzed me and said for you to meet them in the conference room ASAP."

Brows raised, Reed put down his papers. "Mr. Harter's here ?"

"Yes, sir. And he wants you to drop whatever you're doing."

"I'm on my way." Reed punched off the intercom and rose. This was weird. Richard Harter rarely came in. Reed had hoped he'd be there this afternoon when he had his meeting with the other founding partners, but that was six hours from now. And Reed wasn't self-centered enough to believe that something defined as "urgent" was about him and his future. He yanked on his suit jacket and headed down the hall.

The mood in the conference room was somber. The three men who'd hired Reed were huddled together, talking in tense whispers. The door was ajar. Reed gave a perfunctory knock and poked his head in.

"Reed." Richard Harter spoke up first. "Come in and shut the door." Reed complied, getting more uneasy by the minute. "What's this about?"

"A double homicide." Horace Randolph didn't waste words or time.

"Last night. The two bodies were discovered over an hour ago." His solemn gaze met Reed's.

"The victims were Douglas and Adrienne Berkley."

"What?" Reed's jaw dropped. "Did I hear you right?"

"You did," Harter confirmed. "Douglas never showed up for a breakfast meeting. That's unprecedented. His colleagues contacted his office. His secretary tried his home phone and his cell. No answer. She caught a cab to East Eighty-second, to check out his brownstone. She got no response there either. Finally, she called the police. Two officers came by to check out the place. Apparently, the murders occurred sometime between one and six a.m. Douglas's neck was snapped. Adrienne was raped and choked."

"Christ." Reed sank down into a chair. "Was it a break-in? Do the police have any leads as to who the killer or killers were?"

"No and yes. It wasn't a break-in. The lock wasn't forced, the alarm wasn't tripped, and nothing was taken. And, yes, it seems the police have a suspect, although no arrest warrant has been issued. They want to speak with Jonathan Mallory. He's on his way to our office, after which he's been asked to stop by the Nineteenth Precinct."

Everything inside Reed went still. "They think Jonathan killed Douglas and Adrienne?"

"As Richard said, there's been no arrest--yet," Albert Collins said. "But the detectives did question Jonathan at the crime scene. They want to question him again. He called here a few minutes ago to fill us in and say he was on his way."

"He must be a wreck."

"He is. The detectives notified him of the murders as soon as the bodies were discovered. He was at his office. He rushed right over." An uncomfortable cough. "The circ.u.mstantial evidence is mounting.

No forced entry, no sign of a struggle--and right on the heels of the very publicized media announcements of Jonathan's appointment at Berkley and Company and Douglas's acknowledgment that he was his son. Let's just say the NYPD has questions."

"I'm sure they do." Reed's mind was racing as the defense attorney in him took over. "You said Adrienne was raped. Was there any s.e.m.e.n found?"

A nod. "The detectives asked Jonathan for a DNA sample. He agreed, but said he wanted his lawyers present, for that and any other questioning."

"Good."

Richard Harter flattened his palms on the table and leaned forward. "Bottom line--when Jonathan gets here, we want you to talk to him alone."

Reed's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Because we don't want to be privy to what he says."

The reality was slowly sinking in. "Richard, with all due respect, cut to the chase. What exactly are you telling me?"

"Just what you think I am. Look, Reed, this whole situation is a hornet's nest. Our firm represents the interests of Douglas and Adrienne Berkley. If for any reason, Jonathan is found guilty of these crimes, we've got a major conflict of interest on our hands." Harter paused. "I'll be blunt. We all know you want out. You want to set up your own practice. And you want to do it with our blessings, and probably with a few of our clients who'd prefer to stay with you. Well, here's the deal. We'll make your leaving as smooth as possible. We'll help you get started, including sending you referrals and pa.s.sing along our overflow. And we won't stand in the way of any of your clients who choose to follow you to your new firm. It'll be a clean, amicable parting. In return, we want to determine your first client."

"Jonathan Mallory."

"Right."

Reed pursed his lips. "That's an interesting offer. Let me ask you something. What if the DNA sample taken at the crime scene and the one Jonathan supplies don't match?"

"Then your case will be that much easier. And you'll have the undying grat.i.tude of an extremely wealthy, well-connected young man. Either way, your fledgling law firm will make an outstanding debut, and reflect well on our firm."

"Translated, innocent or guilty, you want no part of representing Jonathan."

Collins sighed. "This story is going to be all over every newspaper in New York. It's already on the local TV news as we speak. Jonathan's name will be linked to the case whether or not he's ultimately found guilty. We don't want that kind of press. Plus, we still have Douglas and Adrienne's trusts and estates to handle."

"Jonathan's the successor-executor of both estates," Reed realized aloud. "And, with both Douglas and Adrienne gone, he's also the sole beneficiary." He blew out his breath. "Talk about incriminating."

"So you see our position."

"Clear as gla.s.s."

"And?"

A few seconds ticked by.

Then Reed made his counteroffer. "I'll meet with Jonathan when he gets here--alone, as you asked.

I'll apprise him of the situation and the terms of his representation--that it'll be Reed Weston, Esquire, and not Harter, Randolph and Collins who'll be his counsel. If he chooses to accept those terms, fine.

I'll hear what he has to say, then accompany him over to the Nineteenth Precinct as his attorney of record. However, if he refuses, I don't expect you to rescind your offer. I want your a.s.surance that you'll give my new firm your full cooperation, including all the perks you just described, regardless of the outcome of my talk with Jonathan. I give you my word that I'll do all I can to convince him to retain me. But I can't force him. So, if he chooses to seek out different representation, I still expect you to live up to your agreement. Is it a deal?"

The partners exchanged glances. Then Harter nodded. "It's a deal."

Reed walked into his office and clicked on the Sony LCD WEGA flat-panel TV he kept on the corner table, turning to the local news. Sure enough, there was the breaking story.

"The double homicide occurred at the Berkley brownstone, located on the Upper East Side just off Fifth Avenue, near the Metropolitan Museum of Art," a news correspondent was saying. "The police aren't releasing much information at this time. All we know is that Douglas and Adrienne Berkley were murdered sometime between one and six a.m. There was no evidence that this was a burglary--"

Reed pressed the Off b.u.t.ton on the remote control.

Then he sank down in his desk chair, trying to process everything that had just happened and the colossal hurdle that now faced him.

He was taking a huge risk, one that was even bigger than the senior partners realized. There was a lot more to Jonathan Mallory than they knew, and a lot more circ.u.mstantial evidence stacked up against him.

There was the antagonism between him and Adrienne, the resulting tension between him and Douglas, and his own precarious state of mind these days. Add that to the skeletons in his closet, and you had a prose-cutorial field day.

As for Jonathan's state of mind, that opened up another ugly can of worms.

Taylor.

Was Jonathan the one stalking her? Reed hadn't thought so, but in light of this horrifying double homicide, he didn't know what to believe. Just the conversation Jonathan had initiated with Taylor last night had been strange enough to raise eyebrows. Once the cops got wind of it-- and they would, since they'd undoubtedly interview everyone who attended the gala at Le Cirque--they'd be all over it. Taylor would have to divulge all her suspicions relating to Jonathan. And his client would be screwed.

That was a professional take. But there was also a personal one. If it turned out Jonathan was arrested and tried, Taylor would be called as a witness for the prosecution. Reed's job would be to tear her to pieces.

Reed ma.s.saged his temples. He couldn't go there, not yet. First, he had to meet with Jonathan. He had to hear him out, to study him while he talked. Body language spoke volumes, especially under traumatic circ.u.mstances such as these. As for their discussion, it wasn't going to be pretty. It was going to be blunt. No bulls.h.i.t. Cards on the table. Not only would Reed get a more accurate a.s.sessment that way, he'd get a better handle on Jonathan's state of mind. No more diplomatic talks, no more placating tactics. He had to know if Jonathan was guilty or innocent-- not only of the homicides, but of stalking Taylor.

He prayed his instincts were right. That Jonathan had a ton of psychological baggage, but wasn't a criminal. Because, like it or not, Reed was in this now. He'd given his word to the senior partners. So if his instincts turned out to be wrong, he was screwed, both professionally and personally.

Taylor would never accept this situation, much less cope with it.

Enough. Reed pushed away from his desk and rose, walking over to pour himself a gla.s.s of water.

Facts first. Speculation later.

He glanced restlessly at his watch.

Jonathan would be here any minute.

9:45 a.m.

DELLINGER ACADEMY.

Taylor couldn't stand the wait anymore.

She went into her office and called Detective Hadman.

There was a commotion in the background when he answered. "Hadman," he said briskly.

"h.e.l.lo, Detective, this is Taylor Halstead. I was wondering if you'd had a chance to trace that telephone number."

"The telephone numb--oh, yeah." He was big-time distracted. "I was going to call you this morning, but it's been wild here since I got in. Yes, I traced the number. But, like I figured, it got me nowhere.

The number belongs to a prepaid cell phone."

"Well, can't you find out who bought it?"

"Not a chance. These phones are purchased in convenience stores, airports, you name it. If we're lucky, we could trace it to a specific location. But even that wouldn't do us much good. The perp probably paid cash, and no ID is required to buy one of these things. Anonymous cell phone purchases escaped the Patriot Act. No way we could connect it to your phone pal."

"I see. So we're no closer to finding him than we were before." Taylor fought her mounting frustration. "Is there anything else we can do to--"

"Listen, Ms. Halstead, I don't mean to cut you off, but this double homicide just landed in our laps.

Your stalker's going to have to go on the back burner."

That explained the commotion.

Despite her personal anxiety, Taylor felt a tinge of guilt. "I'm sorry, Detective. I had no idea. I'll leave you to your--"

"It's all over the news," he interrupted. "I'm surprised you haven't heard."

"I've been at school since early this morning."

"The murdered couple was Adrienne and Douglas Berkley."

"Adrienne and Douglas Berkley?" Taylor's hands began shaking. "They were murdered? But I just saw them last night. How did it happen? Do you know who did it?"

"I'm not at liberty to discuss the details of the case with you. However, now that I know you were with them last night, we'll need to talk to you. Yeah?" he called out to someone in the precinct. "Ms. Halstead, I've gotta go."

Click.

Taylor replaced the receiver in its cradle, staring at it as her mind raced. Then she punched up the cbsnewyork.com Web page on her computer and scrolled down to the breaking story on the double homicide.

The Berkleys. . . dead. Murdered in their own home.

The article said nothing about a break'in. Had the killer been someone they knew? Someone who had other motives for getting rid of them?