The Crasher Read online

  It was a dreary day. Perhaps it would take her mind off things if she flung herself into the crazy world of fashion photography for a few hours. “Okay, I’ll come,” she said, although her head was now really beginning to pound.

  As if to make her life more miserable, the old-fashioned toilet in the loft was making a nonstop trickling sound that was driving her mad. It had happened before.

  With effort Ginny lifted off the heavy top of the toilet, intending to tinker inside. Thank goodness she carefully put the top down on the bathroom floor before peering inside or she most certainly would have dropped it to smash on the tiles. “Oh, my God.” She reeled back.

  Like some extraordinary piece of abstract art, a large black pearl necklace dangled from the ball cock, while at the bottom of the tank gleamed the magnificent sapphire and diamond earrings, the sapphire and diamond brooch and the large diamond ring she had last seen adorning Madame Perez de Villeneva at 834 Fifth.

  1995

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  11889 DELRAE BOULEVARD, SOUTH BEACH, FLORIDA

  The February morning was forcing its way into the bedroom through a broken slat in the shutters. Virginia Walker squeezed her eyes tightly together to try to block out the blinding light, but it was impossible.

  Graham was always pontificating, “Every year millions of people flock to Florida to retire, as much for the joy of waking up every day to the brightest light in the nation, as for the warmth it represents.” There was no joy in it for her.

  Since their move to the wrong end of South Beach, Miami, for the first time in her life Virginia had begun to suffer from migraine headaches, the only ailment which had ever prevented her from turning up at work. Despite Graham ridiculing her reasoning, she was sure the brilliant, low-latitude light was responsible, for she never got migraines on sunless days. Luckily for the family budget, they happened quite frequently, despite the propaganda put out by Florida’s tourist board.

  Reluctantly Virginia opened her eyes. There was a tightness behind her right ear and the suspicion that if she moved too quickly nausea might develop, familiar migraine symptoms. Graham maintained she brought them on by thinking about her headaches too much. If only that were true.

  Eight-ten A.M. Oh, no, she was late! The moment of panic was quickly followed by the grateful realization that it was Sunday.

  She didn’t need to turn to know that Graham was no longer in the other twin bed; and because the house was so silent, with no blaring of a religious service on television, she also knew with a sense of relief that he was no longer in the house. He would already be in church.

  Early churchgoing was a new Graham habit, not only on Sundays, either, and as she showered, she wondered how many more “pupils” he might boast of having signed up on his return home.

  For the first time it seemed Graham had landed in the right place at the right time to open a branch of the Walker School. There were a lot of retirees around with nothing much to do, and recently there had been a healthy response to his Socrates ad, offering one-on-one lessons on Western civilization for seventy dollars an hour.

  Neither of them had known before their arrival that Florida was so much part of the country’s Bible Belt. Although Graham denied it, Virginia was sure he hadn’t had any idea how much that kind of environment would suit him. So much so that in his latest courses, Quentin Peet had been dumped as a source of knowledge and wisdom to be replaced by the Bible. It was typical of Graham that he’d written Peet one more “final” letter telling him so.

  Propped up by the coffeepot was yesterday’s Miami Herald with the Ann Landers column heavily circled with a marker pen. What was Graham about to commandeer for his own use now?

  “Dear Ann Landers,” she read, “When a woman wrote to ask how many times a wife should forgive a husband who cheats, you quoted the Bible—Matthew 18:21-22. Peter asks Jesus, ‘How often should I forgive a brother who sins against me? Seven times?’ Jesus replies, ‘No. Seventy times seven.’

  “Does that mean I should forgive this rat 490 times? If so, I’ve got to live through 470 more affairs. I don’t think I’ll make it. Any advice? signed, No Martyr.”

  Virginia stared out of the window at the solitary stunted palm tree marking the end of the scrubby patch which passed for their garden. The sky was cloudless, a perfect tropical blue. It already looked hot. She hoped Graham would be invited to take a glass of lemonade with the minister and his wife. She hoped he would be home late, very late, so she could enjoy a long call to Ginny without his frowning, disapproving presence as the expensive minutes ticked by.

  She poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee and resumed reading. “Dear N.M., You took me too literally. Every woman whose husband cheats should ask herself this question: ‘Would my life be better or worse without him?’ ”

  Virginia shook her head. That wasn’t a very good answer, Ms. Landers. She was sure the only kind of cheating Graham didn’t do was with another woman, but dealing with his other petty con games over the years, she’d asked herself “Would my life be better or worse without him” so many times, she knew it didn’t resolve a thing. There were too many “ifs” and “buts” to take into account.

  The tightness behind her ear was getting worse, but if she took a pill now she’d be a zombie for the rest of the day. She picked up the paper again, trying to figure out why Graham had marked it. “Dear Ann Landers, I’m the wife of a clergyman and—” Virginia screamed as a hand touched her shoulder.

  She spun round in terror. “Sorry, Aunt V. The door was open…” Virginia stared in disbelief. There was her bad egg of a nephew Alex, who despite his rueful smile and placating outstretched hand, was standing before her as debonair and self-assured as ever.

  “Alex, where… where on earth have you sprung from? This is a surprise. Really, you… you should have given me… us some warning.” Not sure she’d even buttoned all the buttons on her housecoat, Virginia nervously turned away to check.

  “I know I should. I meant to, but frankly I’ve just come in from the Far East, from Asia, and I’m a little discombobulated.” Alex laughed in the easy way she knew so well. “My watch tells me the time, but I have no idea whether it’s A.M. or P.M. Well, I do, but…” He touched her arm placatingly again. “I’m dying for a cup of your Cuban coffee, Aunt V. Where’s the man of the house?”

  “At church.” She hadn’t meant to tell him. She was seething with anger and stewing with anxiety at the same time.

  Alex raised an incredulous eyebrow. From anyone else it would have seemed insulting, but then with a quick smile and a wink, he somehow conveyed his understanding of something which didn’t need to be further explained. Not for the first time Virginia realized why Ginny was so under her cousin’s influence. It was infuriating, but even she had to admit, there was something about Alex that was mesmerizing.

  “I’ll make some more coffee.” She bustled around, now really praying Graham would stop over for that lemonade, not sure how to deal with Alex herself, but dreading the confrontation she knew would occur if Graham saw him.

  “Have you heard from Ginny?” Alex didn’t quite manage to hide the anxiety in his voice.

  Virginia felt her heart pounding. All the fears Ginny’s call of last week had triggered flooded back. There was something going on between them. According to the British press, Alex was a wanted man. It would be typical of Ginny to want to hide him. Who knew what trouble she might put herself in to protect her beloved Alex?

  The tightness in her head was building, but she had to fight it to find out the truth, if Alex was capable of telling the truth.

  Virginia faced him with a cup of steaming coffee in her hands. “Yes, I spoke to Ginny a few days ago. She’s been looking for you urgently all over. Frankly, Alex, I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Easy, Auntie, you look as if you want to scald me to death with that coffee.” The easy banter was back as Alex took the cup from her. “I don’t know what you mean—’something’s going on.’
I don’t see Ginny anything like as much as I’d like to… I travel too much. I just wanted to know how she is, in case I miss her on the phone.” He stopped, seeing Virginia’s pursed lips. “What’s biting you, Aunt V.? What did Ginny say when she called?”

  “I told you. She’s been looking for you urgently. I don’t know why and I’ll tell you right now, I wish she never gave you any thought, I wish you were right out of her life. She called the number you gave her in London and no one had heard of you there…”

  When Alex shrugged as if it was nothing to do with him, Virginia lost her temper, blurting out, “Even your own mother doesn’t know exactly where you live. When did you last speak to her? Do you realize how sick she’s been?”

  Alex stared at her coldly. “Sick?” he repeated. “Not yesterday when she’d just come back from her bridge game and not ten days ago when I called to see what color she wanted for the new car I’m buying her. Sick with what?”

  Ashamed she’d broken her promise to her sister-in-law and not in the least mollified by Alex’s reply, Virginia made a snap decision. She wouldn’t get anywhere unless she told Alex straight out what she knew, what Graham and she both knew, and what she had told Ginny about her precious idol.

  “Alex, Graham and I both know you’ve been in trouble with the law in Britain. You’re on the run, aren’t you?” Now she’d started, she couldn’t stop. “We saw your picture in a British paper. Even though you used another name, and had a mustache, we easily saw it was you. Don’t worry, we wouldn’t dream of worrying your mother, but I told Ginny, because I don’t want her getting into any trouble because of you. As far as we’re concerned you’ve always stood for trouble. What are you doing here anyway after all this time? How could you arrive here from Asia?”

  Even as she asked the question, she knew she was being stupid. What could she know about international air travel, moving as she did the cheapest way possible?

  “You told Ginny what exactly?” There was a note in Alex’s voice Virginia had never heard before, a note she’d never heard in anyone’s voice. She pulled the housecoat around her and backed toward the kitchen counter. She had to be wrong, but Alex sounded menacing.

  There was the hot coffeepot on the counter. She would pick it up as if she was going to pour some more coffee. She would hold it in front of her as a weapon—in case.

  She was surprised how calm she sounded. “I told Ginny what we’d read, that you’d been charged in London in connection with a theft and got off; that there were other charges pending, but you’d skipped the country.” She was unable to resist adding sarcastically, “Obviously, as I see with my own eyes.”

  “You don’t see anything; you don’t know anything; you never did,” Alex sneered. “How could you arrive here from Asia?” he mimicked. “You’ve lived here for over a year and you still don’t know Miami’s one of the major international airports in the world.” He looked around, not bothering to conceal his distaste for the shabby surroundings. “How much do you know about your precious little daughter? How d’you think she lives? Has she sent you any of her clippings, the ones where she’s wearing some pretty fancy jewelry? Do you know anything”—Alex brought his face close to hers—“anything about the way your little princess lives now, the one you brought up so carefully to be Miss Prim and Proper Perfect?”

  When she didn’t reply, showing him with her sudden pallor and strained expression how his words hit home, he laughed, extracting the coffeepot from her in one easy move. “We don’t want any accidents, do we Aunt V. You might burn yourself if you’re not careful.” He tilted the pot a fraction as he spoke, as if to pour a drop onto her housecoat, then, moving it quickly upright again, put it carefully down on the table.

  She didn’t know Alex anymore. Perhaps she had never known him. Both Graham and she had dismissed him as a lightweight, a ne’er-do-well, but harmless except for influencing Ginny too much with his racy way of life. Now she knew he wasn’t harmless at all; he was a common criminal, whose winks and smiles no longer fooled her.

  Thank God, he appeared to be leaving. He was at the back door, bathed in the brilliant morning light. Once more he said mockingly, “No, you don’t know anything, Aunt V., and you shouldn’t pass judgment until you know who and what you’re dealing with.” As suddenly as he’d arrived, he was gone.

  Like a robot, Virginia washed up the cups and threw out the freshly brewed coffee. She put her hands to her ears, trying to blot out the sound of Alex’s voice.

  Was Ginny working with him? Virginia began to weep. She knew why. She was too frightened now to pick up the phone to call her daughter; too frightened she might learn that the fears she’d had for a long long time about Alex’s power over Ginny were all about to be confirmed.

  The jewels were still where she’d found them. She’d only unhooked the black pearl necklace from the ball cock to let it slide to join the other gems on the floor of the tank, so the toilet had stopped trickling.

  Where else in the loft could the jewels be hidden? But for her migraine that made the sound of the trickling water intolerable, she would never have found them herself, for who would ever think of looking there? No one, except a member of “a highly skilled professional gang”—that was how the New York detective had described the robbers. Was Alex the ringleader or was someone leading her cousin around by the nose?

  Svank. It had to be something to do with Svank, for what had Alex told her at the Rainbow Room? “I am under the big man’s command.” Svank had to be behind everything.

  For the first twenty-four hours Ginny had been too ill, too terrified to move, locking her door, refusing to see anyone. She hadn’t needed to act to convince Lee that she couldn’t come to the studio to help style the shoot after all, that she had the mother and father of all migraines. She’d sounded at death’s door, she’d thought she might well be. The only effort had come from convincing Lee not to visit, because she wouldn’t let her in however long and hard she rang the bell.

  Lee probably thought she was suffering from another unrequited love affair. So let her think it. Ginny hadn’t cared what Lee or anyone else thought; she hadn’t cared about anything except solving the biggest problem of her life, a problem she couldn’t share with anyone.

  Not even Johnny. Especially not Johnny. It had been gratifying to hear how concerned he’d sounded when she’d called in sick. He had also sounded relieved, when she’d assured him she felt too poorly to receive any visitors.

  Every time the phone rang Ginny rushed to answer it, certain it had to be Alex. How could he do this to her? How had he gotten himself into such a mess? She couldn’t, just couldn’t accept the logical conclusion—that Alex, her beloved cousin, counsel, best friend in all the world was a crook, and not just a petty crook either, for now she remembered with horror his “gifts.”

  The necklace he’d “borrowed” from Harry Winston, the one he’d fastened around her neck the night of the downtown DIFFA ball, the one she’d assumed was made of rhinestones, although they looked like diamonds. Where had the necklace come from? Whose diamonds had she been wearing so innocently? Then there was the mysterious “entailed” bracelet dropped off by his Scottish friend Angus—a name she would now never forget; the bracelet Alex told her not to wear to the Fifth Avenue party, the bracelet she’d given back. Why? Was it because it was too recognizable? Would Luisa have recognized it as belonging to someone she knew?

  Why had he wanted it back? She hadn’t given it much thought, so used was she to Alex giving and taking back, coming and going.

  Exactly when had he told her he’d left the “Wall Street trenches for good” and was now “dedicated to buying and selling art, jewelry and objets”? It was soon after he’d gotten to know Svank. She was sure of it. Svank had to be responsible for Alex’s and now her terrible predicament.

  She talked herself into believing this at the end of one day, only to wake up at the beginning of the next with her mind churning with new hows, whys and wherefores. That Svank
was involved seemed obvious, and yet, if so, with such valuable loot stashed in her loft why hadn’t she heard from the monster himself or any of his henchmen? She shivered thinking of the biggest of them all, Hugo Humphrey.

  Because Svank didn’t know she had the jewels. Nobody would think of her loft as a hiding place for such valuables, let alone her toilet. And the reason Alex hadn’t called? Because he was acting as he normally did, floating in and out of her life, in order to avoid attracting any attention to her. Obviously he never dreamed she’d find what he’d planted on her so soon, and he didn’t know that by a curious twist of fate she also knew of his problems in England.

  When the time was right Alex would turn up and explain everything. Please God, she prayed, let it be soon, for how long could she live with such a secret?

  A murder on the West Side had knocked the East Side robbery off the local TV news, but rehashed and reexamined, it was still in the papers, although not on the front page. Perhaps Johnny would know something the papers weren’t printing?

  “Johnny?”

  “Yep.” He sounded preoccupied.

  “Ginny.”

  His voice warmed up. “Ginny! I was going to call you today. You sound better. Ready to go to work?”

  “Of course.” She wasn’t, but just hearing his voice made her long to see him, whether he knew anything or not.

  “You don’t sound too eager.”

  “Oh, I am. I am.”

  “Tomorrow’s the opening night of the Cocteau revival with a splashy party afterwards at Tavern on the Green.”

  Ginny felt physically sick. How far removed from real life all that was. She heard Johnny shuffle through papers. She thought of the way his hair thinned at the back, although it curled up around the nape of his neck. In her weakened, low condition, it made her feel weaker.

  “I’ve missed you, Ginny,” he was saying. She didn’t believe it but please, say it again, she prayed. He didn’t hear her prayer. “How about coming over this afternoon, late, say about five-thirty. We’ll go over the drill for tomorrow night. I’ll explain to you a theater press-agent’s nightmare.”