The Trials of Max Q, page 37
“Then what were you doing?”
“I was following up a lead. I got a call today from George Herman, who told me of an investigation he had conducted over the last few weeks, which included tapping my phone and bugging my car. Said he grew suspicions of me after he was sent on that wild goose chase, and began to wonder if I was Lansdale’s mystery girlfriend. Then after he found a photo of me at a helipad in Manhattan the morning of the murder, he started wondering much worse stuff. Does any of this ring a bell, Jack?”
I play it safe by saying nothing.
“I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that George found that I am a boring workaholic who has nothing better to do on Thanksgiving. And not only am I not dating James Lansdale, I don’t have a boyfriend at all—I made him up to impress a guy, but that guy turned out to be a felon with trust issues. Not a real man like George, who had the guts to call me up on a holiday to apologize for his actions.”
As much pain as I’m in, the part about not having a boyfriend almost makes me smile. “You still didn’t answer my question—what led you to do surveillance on Lansdale tonight?”
“George had another reason for calling. Turns out that Lansdale had a motive to take down Anderson. But since you were off pursuing a life of crime, he couldn’t find you. So he trusted me with the information.”
“Lansdale just helped Drew escape—you saw it with your own eyes.”
“When Anderson’s business hit those major financial problems a few years back, he entered into a secretive agreement with Lansdale. It injected capital into Max-Q-Collectibles, and for his trouble, Lansdale received a stake in the company.”
I remain quietly lying on the wet ground. So far, it sounds like two businessmen doing business. I nod for her to go on.
“But it wasn’t just a business deal—it was a bet. Winner take all. If Anderson won the governorship, then he got back complete control of the company. But if he either didn’t run or didn’t win, Lansdale got controlling interest. So by getting rid of Anderson prior to the election, he would acquire the company. And by using Laney Bang to set him up, he also got rid of his arch-enemy in the process. He killed two birds with one stone, so to speak.”
I’m skeptical. “Lansdale and his group would have profited much more by Anderson becoming governor. That’s why he made the bet in the first place—he wanted Anderson in Albany. And I’m not sure he really wanted to get rid of Laney Bang. He needed her. Every revolutionary needs a worthy opponent to validate their quest.”
“Regardless, since Lansdale is now a prime suspect in Anderson’s escape, I’m going to have a talk with him,” Shep says, holding a determined look at the yacht in the distance.
As if on cue, a helicopter lifts into the air and roars over the dark trees that surround the lake.
“He’s heading back to his ranch. Maybe you can catch up with him there. I’ve gotten Drew and Marissa to safety, so I’ve done my part. This case is over for me,” I say.
“I don’t think you’re in a position to be making declarations.”
“It’s a waste of time. Lansdale couldn’t be the one who set him up.”
“I’m not saying he killed Laney. My only point was that we need to have an open mind.”
The conversation is starting to sound familiar. We are right back where we started.
She lifts me to my feet. She then takes off the winter cap that is snuggled over her hair and tosses it to me. “You take it—you’d have a lot more to lose from a head injury.”
I smile through my pain as I follow her out of the woods.
Chapter 102
As dawn breaks, we ride up the long driveway of Lansdale’s Saratoga ranch. I’m tired, beaten, and skeptical, but Shep appears to have found her second wind.
“So why aren’t you going to turn me in?” I muster the energy to ask.
“George said you refused to approve his investigation of me. You insisted to him that you trusted me and wouldn’t waver … so consider this me returning the favor.”
“Then why did you get all Bruce Lee on me?”
“Because in the end, you didn’t trust me. I don’t need a guy looking out for my safety like I’m some little girl. I might not have revealed personal stuff like my marital situation to you, but when it came to the case I was completely honest. I trusted in everything you preached to me about the law and justice, and then you go behind my back and betray every principle you claim to believe in.”
I can’t argue—she’s right. “Next time I help a convicted murderer escape, you will be the first person I call.”
I actually get a slight smile out of her. But then something hits her. “Oh, Jack, I almost forgot. George provided me some other information for you. Something about a scouting report on a judge that came up clean—told me you’d know what he means.”
He’s telling me that Figliomini isn’t the one who manipulated the trial. Score one for my legal idealism. But reopens the question—if not him, then who? I again try to convince myself that the case is over.
She continues, “He also researched Jordans who stole cars in the Bronx, as you requested. He has your profile narrowed down to two possibilities. He’ll have something solid for you by Monday. Do you know what he is talking about?”
I think of Drew and Marissa happily flying away to a new beginning. “Thanks, but it doesn’t matter anymore.”
The first thing I notice about the ranch is how empty it is. It’s the crack of dawn, but having been around the Lawson stables during my childhood, I know that this time of morning is usually filled with great bustle and energy. It’s strange not to see even one thoroughbred out for a morning gallop.
As we get closer, I inquire, “What are you going to ask him?”
“Don’t worry, Jack, I’m not going to blow your cover. If he thinks I know what you did last night, then I’ll never get any answers out of him. Just follow my lead.”
When we arrive at the ranch house, I notice that the helipad is empty. He should have beaten us here. His cars are also missing, but maybe he moves them into a garage this time of year. A knock on the front door gets no response, so we decide to walk the grounds, searching for signs of life. After spending endless hours in my small boat the night before, it feels good to stretch my legs. My bruised ribs, courtesy of Shep’s boot, are another story.
We walk into the stables, greeted by the smell of horseshit. But while their aroma remains, no horses are present.
We turn the corner and spot human life. A stable boy is standing outside the stall of a lone thoroughbred. The horse is sticking its head through an opening, and the man is rubbing its snout in an affectionate way. As far as I can see, it’s the only horse remaining in the stable.
“Hello,” Shep calls out.
We move closer.
The man continues to caress the horse’s face, oblivious to our presence.
“Hey—we’re talking to you,” she follows up with authority.
He slowly turns his head in our direction. He doesn’t look surprised. Actually, he looks sad.
“Can I help you?” he finally replies in a calm voice.
I realize that he is the same guy that Shep found so attractive on our last visit.
“We are looking for James Lansdale.”
“He’s gone,” the man says dismissively, his concentration on the horse.
“We’ll wait,” Shep remains diligent.
The man turns back toward her and his peaceful demeanor washes away. “Get it through your thick skull, woman. He’s gone! He’s with her now. He has no need for this place anymore, so he sold it.”
Shep and I both see it at the same time. On his left arm, staring us straight in the face. A tattoo. Cross in the middle, a ‘J’ on one side of the cross, and an ‘M’ on the other.
Chapter 103
As I stare at him, Shep shows her pragmatic side. She pulls out a 9mm pistol and points it at the stable boy. “Freeze!” Shep packs a gun?
The man remains disturbingly calm. It’s as if he is completely detached from this world, sort of like Maxon at the end. He gives no indication that he’ll flee, gun or no gun.
“So we meet again, Jessica,” he says.
Shep says nothing, gun locked and loaded.
He smirks at me. “I’m disappointed you didn’t recognize me, Jack. Perhaps you only remember my fist against your face.”
It makes no sense that he’d be the one who ran us off the road. The attacks on George and Ashley helped our case, but our “accident” was a warning to back off. Our attacker had a long sleeve shirt on that night, so I can’t identify him by the tattoo, but the voice sounds hauntingly familiar.
Shep’s gaze remains locked on the man. “If Lansdale sold this place, what are you doing here? We saw you here on our first visit—you work for him.”
The man turns to pet the snout. The horse is beginning to get protective of his stable friend, turning rambunctious.
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” Shep calls out.
He completely ignores her, still focused on the horse, whom he calms with a few loving strokes.
“His name is Common Decency. The new owners came by earlier this morning, and as you can tell by the empty stalls, all his compatriots were shipped off like royalty to the highest bidders after the sale. Nobody wanted CD, so I bought him myself for pennies on the dollar—plan to take him back with me to New Zealand.”
He looks at Shep. “If you want to arrest me, knock yourself out. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Stop covering for him. You work for James Lansdale and you know where he is.”
A creepy smile replaces his melancholy facade.
“What’s so funny?” Shep demands, gun still pointed directly at him. If she’s bluffing she sure is doing a good acting job.
He continues laughing, while saying, “I don’t work for James Lansdale … I’m his son.”
Shep takes a step back, jolted by the words.
I feel the same shock waves. “You’re a Lansdale?”
“I chose to change it to my mother’s surname of Kelly. Thought it would give me a fresh start. Does that sound familiar, Jessica?”
“Stop playing games with us!” she shouts. But I get the feeling he isn’t.
“You might remember Kirstie Kelly, the New Zealand model from back in the day. Had an affair with James Lansdale, which got her knocked up. My loving father’s wife at the time tried to convince my mum to get an abortion, but she disagreed. I’m not saying it was an act of nobility, as I’m sure she was more interested in the mighty Lansdalian child-support payments.
“Life was good growing up in New Zealand, before my mum decided she wanted to make a comeback in the modeling world, and moved me to New York when I was sixteen. The only good part was that I might get to see my father, who was always too busy doing business in New York to come visit me in New Zealand. But never saw the bastard once. Then, in the irony of ironies, when I got in trouble with the law, he went to court to get custody of me and enslave me up here. And now he stole her. He always gets his way in the end … as you two are starting to realize.”
Shep holds the gun on him with her right hand, while punching numbers into her cell with her free hand. “We’ll see about that,” she says, then speaks into the phone, “George, it’s Shep—sorry to bother you so early, but I need some information, and it’s urgent.”
I take the good cop approach. “Did your father order you to give us that evidence against Anderson … the video of Drew and Laney? The tickets to the football game?”
“I wouldn’t do anything for that deadbeat. I did it for her! She promised we’d be together again.”
Something clicks. “I have a photo of a woman getting off your father’s helicopter the morning of Laney Bang’s murder. He claims it was his girlfriend. Is that who her is? Is that who he ran off with?”
“Girlfriend? If that’s what you want to call her, mate,” he says. He looks at the horse for comfort. “The sad thing is that if she showed up here right now, I’d take her back. She’s my addiction.”
Shep ends her phone call with George. “James Lansdale and Kirstie Kelly had one child, a son named Jordan.”
“In the flesh,” he says to Shep. “Would you like to check my driver’s license? Luckily it didn’t get revoked when I ran some dumb bitch off the road.”
Shep does a slow burn, her gun remaining locked on Jordan Kelly.
“Any of that trouble you got in with the law happen in the Bronx?” I ask.
Jordan flashes me a smile. “Life was real boring in our stuffy Upper East Side neighborhood. So my boys and I used to go up to the Bronx and rob cars. Borrow cars, actually. We would return them a few days later with a heartfelt note about how we needed the car for an emergency and had no choice. For their trouble, we left a couple Broadway show or Knicks tickets on the front seat. The night they would attend, we would rob their house.” He laughs.
“Let me guess, your lawyer was named Marissa?”
“I had to use the public defender because my billionaire father wouldn’t reach into his pocket to help me out. But it turned out to be the best money he never spent. I told you it always works out for him.”
“That’s how you came across Drew Anderson. And he pushed for you and wife to start making movies together.”
Jordan laughs again. “Drew did nothing of the sort. That was all her, and it killed him to know that for all his supposed perfection, the one thing that mattered to him preferred some punk kid over him. And the funny thing was, I think she got off on the fact that it made him want her more.”
“Whatever the circumstance, she eventually dropped you to go back to her husband. Is that why you provided us that evidence against him?”
“One thing Drew Anderson and I have in common is that neither of us ended up with her.”
“They are together now,” I challenge.
“Marissa is only together with one man and it’s not Drew, or myself. Marissa ran off with my father.”
Chapter 104
“It can’t be,” I say to myself, but then go into prosecutor mode. “Marissa was there that morning, wasn’t she?”
Jordan shrugs. “All I did was sneak her on that helicopter at West 30th, and pick her up when she returned the next morning. What happened in between is your job to figure out.”
Marissa’s words fill my mind: Someone is trying to frame my husband for murder. If someone is going to such great lengths, his life will be in danger when he’s acquitted.
It was Marissa who went to such lengths, and in the next breath she told me that I was the only chance to catch that person before they did further harm to him. I know now that she was right … and I’m too late. The puzzle has all come together for me, and I feel sick.
Overcome by dizziness, I sit down on the straw-filled floor of the stable.
Shep has also put the pieces together. “Gifford Brown is right. It’s not about the money, it’s about the amount of money. After the bet, Lansdale has the company, so she devised a way to align herself with the winner.”
“I don’t think it’s about the company … or money.”
“Then why?”
“It’s about perfection. Marissa’s idea of perfection is security—knowing that something can’t be taken away from her. She had wealth with Drew, but the deep fear of abandonment never went away. At some point, she realized that Drew still held her destiny in his hands and she was powerless. Both Drew and Lansdale had plenty of money, but Lansdale represents certainty.”
“You call it perfection, I call it trading up—it’s all semantics. Marissa framed him for Laney Bang’s murder so she could be with Lansdale, and I’m guessing a more reasonable pre-nup.”
“Drew knew that Marissa was the one who really killed Laney. But he wasn’t protecting her from Figliomini or some ruthless business partners, he was protecting her from an investigation that would reveal the truth about what she did. And she was counting on this type of response from him.”
My husband’s only fault is loyalty.
She was true to her word—she lied about Drew pushing the affair with Jordan, as part of her strategy to do or say anything to “free my husband,” but when it came to the facts of the case, she did tell the truth. She showed me the pictures of Figliomini, but went out of her way not to accuse him of anything, same with Maxon. What she did was open my mind and let me do the work for her in freeing her husband.
Marissa’s words smack me in the face once more: Why would I want him in jail? With my pre-nup I would be better off with him dead?
“She never wanted him to spend life in prison, and until Ryan Maxon came along, he would have gotten off. Maxon accidentally threw a wrench into their plan.”
“I still don’t get it,” Shep says with a confused look. “If she didn’t want him to go to jail, why would she have Jordan give us that video in the first place? Without it, he would have walked before a trial.”
“Because for her plan to work, he needed to go through the process, and who would know that better than a lawyer of Marissa’s caliber? It had to look like Drew really was the killer, but that the jury let him walk. She wanted him to win legally, but lose in the court of public opinion. That way all investigations cease. I seriously doubt that anyone is spending any time or money looking for the ‘real killers’ in the OJ Simpson case, even though he was acquitted.”
I’ve been wrong numerous times on this case, but my instincts have returned, and I know I’m right this time. And thanks to me he never looked guiltier.
“But why would Drew go along with this?”
“To protect her. As Jordan said: she was the one thing that mattered to him. She was his symbol of perfection, his mechanical rabbit. He wanted to get off, but his first priority was to protect his prize possession—Marissa. So when Maxon hit him too close to home, Drew decided to sacrifice himself. That knife Maxon buried wasn’t the murder weapon—I’m guessing the real one was buried at sea—it was his insurance policy in case things started pointing in his wife’s direction. He didn’t want to face me on the stand or give me the benefit of a second trial to figure it out. He was going to fall on the sword to protect Marissa.”
