“Yes, ma’am, I will.”
“Do you know why Cal Benton insisted on meeting me in the sweltering courtyard instead of up in his condo?”
The doorman grinned, but quickly turned serious. “He had painters coming this morning, but he canceled them. I was supposed to let them into his place. They were on my list.”
“When did he cancel them?”
“I found out this morning – early. Right after I got in at seven.”
“He called you?”
“He came down here.”
“Was he alone?” Mackenzie asked.
“Yes, ma’am, he was alone.”
She thanked Charlie West for his time and headed out into the heat, just as thunder cracked and lightning flashed over the river. She ducked into her car, leaving the door open to the breeze, and dialed Joe Delvecchio’s number. When he answered, she told him everything that had transpired since her arrival at the condominium complex, leaving out only her exchange with Rook about the room with the bats.
“I figured I’d call you first,” she said.
“You didn’t call me first, Stewart. You called me last. You’ve already talked to Benton, Rook, Kowalski and the damn doorman.”
“I haven’t talked to Detective Mooney in New Hampshire yet.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” he said.
She ignored his sarcasm. “Someone should show the sketch to other people in Cal’s building, just in case the doorman did recognize him but isn’t sure. Another worker or resident might be more certain, one way or another. I’d do it, but I’m personally involved.”
“You think?” He sighed. “I’m on it.”
“For the record, Cal Benton’s flings might not have anything at all to do with the attack on me.”
“Deputy, don’t second-guess yourself. The more pieces we have, the better. They won’t all have a place in the puzzle. That’s nothing new. Are you on your way back here?”
“Give me an hour,” she said, fastening her seat belt.
“It’s a ten-minute drive.”
“Traffic.”
One beat, two beats.
Mackenzie pulled her car door shut. “I need to make a stop. It’s personal.”
“It was personal when you went to see Benton, too.” But Delvechhio relented. “All right. An hour.”
She didn’t know if his modest acquiescence was a sign of trust or if he was just giving her enough rope to hang herself. Either way, she was committed now. She started her car, cranked up the air-conditioning and headed toward Massachusetts Avenue just as a fat raindrop hit her windshield.
Twenty-Five
Mackenzie had her own key to Bernadette’s house off Embassy Row. She’d had it since college, when Bernadette had given it to her before setting off on a six-week trip to Asia. “Come when you want. Just no wild parties.” As if bookish Mackenzie were known for wild parties.
When no one answered the door, she let herself in, announcing her presence. “Hello – anyone home? It’s Mackenzie.”
Thunder rumbled, and with the darkened sky, the light in the house was more like dusk than late morning. Before she’d left for the lake, Bernadette had obviously turned down the air-conditioning. Never mind Cal, Mackenzie thought. Of course, he could always turn it up, but he’d notice the gesture – the reminder that it wasn’t his house and he was no longer welcome there.
As generous as Bernadette was, she was not a pushover.
Mackenzie made her way to the guest suite on the first floor. The door was unlocked and the drapes were still shut. “Cal?” she called, just in case.
The covers were pulled back and half on the floor, as if he’d passed a bad night. She checked the bathroom. Towels on the floor, shaving materials scattered around the sink. The mirror was splattered with dried soap. Would he clean up before he moved out? Or just leave the place a mess as a final thumb-in-the-eye for Bernadette?
The two of them, Mackenzie thought. Bernadette was a role model in so many ways, but not so much when it came to relationships. She volleyed between being too forgiving and too unforgiving, confusing herself and the men in her life. She’d never found anyone who really understood her – her keen intelligence, her drive, her generosity, her contradictory nature. But she never expected to, either.
Mackenzie saw nothing in Cal’s room that suggested he was the victim or perpetrator of blackmail, or knew where Harris Mayer or her attacker were. Nothing that suggested he was in any trouble at all. From his living quarters, Mackenzie could see a man in a hurry, perhaps. And agitated. He was a busy attorney in the midst of moving, and he had her on his case about his brunette at the lake.
She ventured into Bernadette’s study. Forbidden territory. Bernadette hated anyone trespassing in her space, but not so much that she kept the door locked. Files, yes. Her computer was password protected, but Mackenzie checked just to be sure. No sensitive files related to Bernadette’s work as a U.S. district court judge were out in the open.