You Don't Own Me Page 21
“I thought he was harmless, too. That probably explains why I took up with him. I was bored out of my mind, and Martin made for a nice companion in Danny’s absence. But in love? With him?” Clearly she found the idea ludicrous. “When he’d talk about his big plans for us to leave Kendra and Danny to be together, I’d pretend to go along with it, but I never thought he actually believed it. The last thing I wanted to be was some doctor’s wife, let alone a stepmother. I don’t even like children. And when Danny got word about the Senate seat, I knew the two of us would be okay again. I told Martin it was over. But he wouldn’t accept it. He threatened to tell Danny about the affair if I cut things off with him. I told him, ‘Do what you will. Daniel worships me.’ He’d never leave me. If anything, he’d only work harder for my affection. But then Martin threatened to tell the media, right as Danny’s career was taking off again. I couldn’t let that happen.”
Brenner knew right then and there that he was looking into the eyes of a woman who could justify anything. In her mind, Kendra and Daniel were to blame for the affair she and Martin chose to conduct, Martin was to blame for his own death, and, surely, Brenner was to blame for the bullet she planned to use on him.
“Does your husband know what you did?” he asked.
“Danny? Of course not. He doesn’t even know I own a gun. I bought it to protect myself when he started spending so much time in Albany. I had to buy it on the street because heaven forbid that New York City voters find out their elected representative keeps a gun in his house. In fact, he was so convinced of my innocence that he didn’t hesitate to tell the police I was with him in D.C. that night. I told him it was the easiest way to make sure the investigation focused on finding the real killer.”
Brenner owned four different weapons, and they were all at home. That’s how confident he had been about his sense of control. For five years, he believed that he owned both Kendra and Leigh Ann. Man, they had proven him wrong.
“I told you to drive.” Leigh Ann’s voice was now steely.
Brenner shifted from reverse to drive and turned toward the road that would be their exit from the park.
He pictured them on a remote industrial road. She’d leave him with a bullet in his head. She’d stage a suicide, placing her unregistered gun in his hand. He’d be blamed for Martin Bell’s murder and buried in Potter’s Field.
“I think one of us was followed here,” he said, gesturing at the grove of trees in the distance to their left. It was the break he needed. For an instant Leigh Ann took her eyes off him. He jammed his foot on the accelerator and turned the wheel hard left. The 707-horsepower engine responded with a loud roar and skidded toward the railroad tie barrier. As Leigh Ann balanced herself and aimed the gun in his direction, the front wheels of Brenner’s car hit the barrier. It sent the vehicle vaulting into the air. Leigh Ann pulled the trigger, but the shot passed Brenner and partially shattered the windshield on his side.
Brenner grabbed Leigh Ann’s arm, trying to wrest the pistol from her hand. He had it for a second but lost his grip as the car bounced when it hit the ground. He got hold of Leigh Ann’s wrist and tried to keep the gun pointed toward the dashboard. It fired again, shattering the navigation screen.
Brenner threw himself off his seat toward Leigh Ann. Holding her wrist with one hand, he was able to grab the barrel of the pistol with the other. With one quick jerk, he hoped to dislodge it from her hand. But then he heard a loud crash as he was thrown toward the dashboard and back, followed by what he thought was a gunshot. The car had come to rest after hitting the concrete support of the fence behind home plate. Both airbags had deployed, leaving Brenner and Leigh Ann stunned.
Leigh Ann opened her eyes and saw Brenner slumped sideways in his seat, his head down on his chest. When she moved her foot, she felt it hit something on the floor of the passenger’s seat. Pushing aside the deflated airbag, she reached down and picked up the pistol.
62
Laurie was in the middle of a sentence with her father when they heard the roar of Brenner’s engine. The black sedan hopped over the barrier and plowed onto the field.
“Call 911!” Leo shouted as he raced the car around the trees and sped onto the field. They watched helplessly as Brenner’s car accelerated toward the backstop fence behind home plate.
• • •
I can still get away, Leigh Ann thought. Her shoulders ached from the effort of reaching down to retrieve the gun. She tried to think clearly. I have my car. Maybe I can leave before anybody comes. Nobody knows I was here. If they find out, everyone will believe me when I say I did it in self-defense.
Brenner moaned as he opened his eyes and tried to shift his body. Pointing the gun at his heart, Leigh Ann said, “Say hi to Martin for me.”
As her finger began to put pressure on the trigger, a voice from behind her barked, “NYPD. Freeze. Drop the gun. Let me see your hands.”
Leigh Ann turned her head and saw Leo in a firing position, his gun pointed at her head.
“I’m Leigh Ann Longfellow—” she said as she let the gun slip to the floor.
“I don’t care who you are,” Leo barked. “Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Leo gestured to Laurie, who opened the passenger-side door. She picked up the gun.
With his gun still trained on Leigh Ann, Leo said, “Get out of the car and sit on the ground with your hands up.”
As Leigh Ann complied, Leo glanced back and forth between her and Brenner, who was regaining consciousness.
“I’m not armed,” Brenner said.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Leo ordered as Laurie opened the driver’s-side door. Brenner pulled himself out and walked unsteadily toward Leo. He sat down in the grass a few feet away from Leigh Ann.
Leigh Ann began shouting at Leo and Laurie, “Who the hell are you? Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea who my husband is? He’s Senator Daniel Longfellow. When my husband, the senator, finds out what you’re doing to me right now, you won’t have a job tomorrow.”
She gestured at Brenner. “He tried to kill me. He was holding me at gunpoint. He killed Martin Bell and has been blackmailing me. He just tried to kidnap me. Don’t just stand there like an idiot. Do something!”
Brenner’s hand reached for his jacket pocket, and Leo quickly shifted the gun toward him. “I said, keep ’em in the air. What were you reaching for?” Leo demanded.
“You’ll see. Get it yourself if you don’t believe me.” With his hand still in the air, Brenner used his index finger to point to the pocket of his jacket.
Laurie looked toward Leo, who nodded his approval. She approached Brenner cautiously, slipping her hand into the pocket he’d indicated. She pulled out the same small digital recorder he’d had with him at Cooper Union. The red light was on.
“I’ve got her whole story on tape,” Brenner said with a sly smile. “That’s got to be worth something to the district attorney, don’t you think?”
Brenner turned to Leigh Ann, who was glaring at him from her seated position. Smiling, he said, “I’ll see you in thirty years if you’re out by then. Oh, and give my best to the senator.”
• • •
At the sound of the first siren, the driver of the white SUV started his engine and pulled forward. He would find a place to wait near the park exit, away from the police activity that was certainly going to follow the sounds of gunfire on Randall’s Island.
He assumed she’d be leaving in that same little BMW. She wouldn’t be able to get off the island without passing him on her way out.
63
A few minutes later, the loop surrounding Athletic Field 9 on Randall’s Island was filled with emergency response vehicles. Leigh Ann Longfellow and Joe Brenner were both in handcuffs, secured in the back of separate police cars, and soon would be transported back to Manhattan for booking.
Laurie’s cell phone rang for the third time in a row. It was another call from her Realtor, Rhoda Carmichael. She hit the call-decline button.
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“She’s just going to hit redial,” Leo said. Sure enough, her phone buzzed again only seconds later. “Save yourself the headache and answer it.”
The last thing she wanted to talk about now was real estate, but she followed Leo’s advice. “Rhoda,” Laurie said, “I can’t talk right now.”
Rhoda quickly interrupted. “Laurie, listen to me. You absolutely cannot lose this place. It’s a new building on Eighty-fifth between Second and Third. The current owners have the entire sixteenth floor. It has four good-sized bedrooms, each with a private bath. They were about to move in when he accepted a job to run one of the big banks in England. They want to sell fast. The listing agent is a friend of mine. She agreed to let you go in and see it first before she puts in multiple listings tomorrow. It’s very reasonably priced, and I know they’re going to get full-price offers. You want to avoid a bidding war if you can. You and Alex have to get right over there today and see it. You’ll probably beat me there, so I already gave the doorman your name and Alex’s. It’s empty and he’s going to leave the apartment door unlocked for you.”
Next to her, Leo was laughing, imagining the other side of the conversation. Laurie rolled her eyes. “We’ll look at it tomorrow, okay?”
“No, I’m telling you: you’ve got to see it right now. Tomorrow’s a Sunday at the height of the buying season. Any seller’s agent with half a brain will have potential buyers lined up all day long.”
“Now’s not the best time,” Laurie said, feeling herself giving in to Rhoda’s high-pressure pitch.
“It’s gotta be now,” Rhoda insisted. “It’s primo Upper East Side. You’re a hop and skip away from the park and the Met. You’re still near Dad and the school. It’s exactly what you’ve been looking for, and it’s in mint condition.”
“That does sound pretty great.”
Leo signaled that he had something to say. “You can go if you need to. This will take forever, and they’re going to want you to go to the precinct to meet with detectives anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m Leo Farley. Of course I’m sure. I’ll text you the address for the precinct once they’re ready for us, and you can meet us there. I’ll ride back with one of the officers.”
“All right. I’m sure Jerry will be happy to see his car in one piece.” Returning to her call, Laurie told Rhoda she was on her way from Randall’s Island.
“Great. I’m on my way in from the Hamptons—that’s how sure I am about this place. Call Alex and tell him to meet us there. If you get there before me, the doorman will let you go up.”
Once Laurie confirmed her plans with the lead detective, she got into Jerry’s car and made her way past the line of police cars toward the park exit. She pulled up Alex on her list of favorites and hit enter. On the fourth ring, she realized that he was probably still at the Yankees game with his clerks. When the call went to voice mail, she left a message. “Hey there. Today went even better than expected. I’ve got so much to tell you, but I’m about to look at a place with Rhoda. Meet us there if you free up,” she said, adding the address Rhoda had given her.
She turned on 1010WINS radio as she approached the park exit. The Yankees were ahead in the top of the ninth. With any luck, their timing might be perfect. She didn’t notice the white SUV waiting for her as she left.
64
Behind the wheel of his white SUV, Willie Hayes was gleeful when he saw the little BMW approach the park exit with only one occupant: Laurie, finally all by herself.
Willie had been frustrated as he watched the scene unfold on Randall’s Island. What he had thought was a stroke of good luck—Laurie going to an isolated area—turned out to be anything but. He had done his research. He knew her father was a big-deal cop. His suspicion that Daddy Leo still carried a gun was confirmed when he watched Leo and Laurie arrest the two people who’d crashed their car. Just when he thought the opportunity was lost, Laurie got in the car alone and drove off.
Once he began following her from Randall’s Island, he thought about running her off the road on the way onto the Triborough Bridge, but it would take a serious accident to cause the kind of injuries he had in mind, and there were no guarantees in life—he knew that for sure. When she took the 96th Street exit, he assumed she was headed back to her apartment. He had never seen her drive a car on her own before. Did she park on the street or in a garage? Would he have a chance to force her into the SUV? He just needed to get her alone on the sidewalk and approach her from behind. He had a new gun in his jacket pocket that would do the trick. If only he’d owned it that night outside the piano bar. This would all be over by now.
His heart fell when she pulled over next to a fire hydrant, getting a wave from a tall, lanky guy waiting for her there. Willie recognized him as the friend who had sung that cloying song about marriage at her annoying little engagement party. Was he going to miss his chance yet again, after all the waiting he had done?
He was about to leave when Laurie tossed the BMW keys to her friend, who took her place at the wheel, giving her a cheerful horn honk before driving away. Willie inched his SUV forward, ready to make his move, but then she threw him for another loop by heading across the sidewalk to the entrance of an apartment building. Had they moved already? Based on the emails he had read on the laptop he’d stolen, he thought they were still searching.
A grocery delivery truck pulled away from its spot in the middle of the block. Willie inched forward to grab it, keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror as Laurie stopped to talk to the doorman. Willie hesitated for a moment on the sidewalk, arriving as she disappeared into the elevator. He assumed she was going to look at yet another apartment. His instinct told him that now was the time to make his move.
He walked up to the doorman, who was on the phone. “Excuse me, the woman who just passed—”
“Are you the husband?” the doorman asked.
“Uh, yes, I am.”
“Sixteenth floor. Use the door opposite the elevator,” he said as he went back to his phone call.
“Is my wife the only one there?”
“Yes, so far. The Realtor is on her way. She said to let you and your wife go up if you got here first.”
Nodding, Willie passed him, went straight to the elevator, waited for the door to close, and pushed the button for 16. He laughed aloud as the elevator began to rise.
65
For once Rhoda was right, Laurie marveled as she stepped inside the apartment. The light was flooding through the arched ceiling over the foyer. On her left she could see the spacious living room with a fireplace. She walked into it and paused to admire the view.
“Hello, Laurie.”
She jumped at the sound of his voice. “Hi. I thought no one was here,” she said nervously. “Are you the owner?”
“Definitely not.” He took great pleasure as her eyes widened at the sight of his gun.
Laurie knew she was staring at a complete stranger, but she was absolutely certain—on an instinctive level—that the man in front of her was the same person who had pushed her in front of a cab after her engagement party. Her best guess was that he was about fifty years old. He had the build of a man who used to be in good shape but had let himself go, the muscle turning to fat.
Her survival instincts told her to speak quietly as she held her hands up. “Whatever’s going on here, we can talk about it,” she said, trying to keep a tremor out of her voice. “You were outside the piano bar on Monday, right? Was that you?” She was grasping at straws, struggling to understand how he was connected to the Martin Bell case. “Do you work with Joe Brenner? He’s in custody. He’s well positioned to cut a deal with the DA. You could be part of that plea agreement, too. Or if Leigh Ann Longfellow hired you, you should know she’s under arrest, too. You could get total immunity if you testified against her.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said as he looked around in awe. “You bought this place? It’s got to be a fortune.”
The man’s gaze shifted between the kitchen and the living room. She could tell he had never been here before. He seemed impressed by his surroundings. This clearly wasn’t a random encounter. The man had used her name. He was here because of her, not the property. Alex and Rhoda would be here soon. She knew she had to keep him talking.
“Did my television show pass on a case you’re connected to?” she asked, struggling to find a reason someone would target her.
“A TV producer can’t afford a spread like this,” he said. “This is hot shot Alex Buckley, living the dream life once again. Big reputation. Fancy new job. Front page of the New York Times when he got through the Senate. And, to top it all off, a beautiful girlfriend he’s about to marry. Too bad it’s not going to happen.”
The sound of Alex’s name from his mouth was like an anvil falling from the sky. What did Alex have to do with any of this? Laurie knew that the very nature of her job put her in contact with people who had dangerous secrets they were determined to hide at all costs, but this was something different. She had no idea who this man was, but his desire to hurt her was palpable.
• • •
Ramon slowed to a stop in front of the building. The doorman was standing inside. Alex walked over to his station. “I’m Alex Buckley. I believe our Realtor Rhoda Carmichael spoke to you. I’m meeting my fiancée and Rhoda to look at the sixteenth-floor apartment.”
The doorman’s expression changed. “A pretty young lady already went upstairs, and her husband a few minutes after.”
“Her husband?” Alex asked. “Did the lady tell you her name?”
The doorman picked up a business card off his desk. “She gave me this. Her name’s Laurie Moran.”