She wore gray wool pants and a green cashmere sweater and black loafers without socks, and I could see tendons shift in her slender ankles as she walked. Her jewelry was simple, but expensive-small hoops of braided gold at her ears, a matching chain at her neck, a thick wedding band. Her fingers were long and supple, her nails expertly manicured, with a clear polish.
She ran her hands through the little boy’s hair. He wore jeans and sneakers and a red turtleneck with a sailboat on it. He had his mother’s coloring and her big eyes too. He was smashing the pickup truck that he held in one hand into the dinosaur that he held in the other, and making dramatic explosion sounds that dissolved into wild laughter. He did this again and again, but for him it stayed fresh. He looked at me and gave me a little smile, but did not pause in his work. I was suddenly quite conscious of the knives and dope I was still carrying around.
“You haven’t been waiting out here all this time, have you?” she asked. She had a gentle but distinct southern accent.
“No, just on a break. Rick had to take a call,” I explained.
Helene rolled her eyes. “That man and the telephone, I swear,” she said, smiling. “Do you want me to hurry him up?”
“That’s alright,” I said, “I can wait. I was just admiring these photos.”
She grinned wryly and laughed. “Those? Yeah, they’re kind of mean, but I like them too.”
“I’ve never heard of H. Barrie. Did these fashion people bump him off when they saw the pictures?”
She laughed again. “H. Barrie isn’t a he. H. Barrie is me. Barrie was my maiden name.”
“You were a photographer?”
“That would be generous; I was strictly amateur. I was modeling back then, actually. Nothing big-catalogs mostly. I was working all those shoots, and took the pictures in my downtime. You’re right, though, it did piss some people off,” she said, laughing some more. “Not that I cared, mind you.”
“You quit modeling when you got married?” I asked. She was aware that I was probing, now, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“I’d more or less quit when I met Rick. I was working my last job, in London, and he’d just moved over from New York. Modeling was fun for a while, and I got to see more of the world than I would have from Asheville, North Carolina. But it’s no kind of life, really.”
“Do you still take pictures?”
“Just vacation snapshots now,” she said, chuckling.
She knelt in front of her son and wrestled a coat on him. She zipped it to just under his chin, adjusted the small collar, ran her fingers through his thick hair again, and kissed his forehead. Then she pulled a knit cap on his head. This broke his concentration, and he focused on me for the first time.
“Hi,” he said. I walked over and knelt down.
“Hi,” I said.
“This is Alex. Alex, this is Mr. March,” Helene said.
“Nice dinosaur,” I said.
“T. rex,” Alex replied, and with that he went back to his smashing. I stood.
“I heard he was a wild man. He doesn’t seem so wild to me,” I said.
Helene laughed ruefully. “Oh, he’s just biding his time, believe me. We’re going out to pick up his big sisters, and when those two get home they’ll whip him into a frenzy.” Helene pulled on her own coat, a chocolate brown shearling. She took the keys and envelopes from the table and slipped them into her pockets. “We’ve got to run. Are you sure I can’t get him for you?” she asked.
“No, thanks, waiting is fine,” I said
“Okay, then… It was nice to meet you, and I’m sure we’ll see you again.” We shook hands, and she rolled Alex out the door.
The apartment was quiet. No traffic noise made it through the thick old walls, and the only sounds were my own slow footsteps around the foyer. I looked at Helene Pierro’s pictures and thought about her. She struck me as more than just another trophy wife, though she seemed to be eminently qualified for that too. It was interesting that she’d asked me nothing about the case or what I was doing there, but it was hard to know what to make of that. It could mean that she didn’t delve into her husband’s affairs. It could mean that her husband had told her everything and she had no questions to ask. It could mean a bunch of other things too.
More footsteps, and Pierro was back. His cheerfulness had returned.
“Hey, John, sorry for the wait. Did Helene go out already?” he asked.
“Yes, she just left with Alex. He’s a cute little guy,” I said. Pierro smiled.
“Oh, yeah, but he’s a handful. Come on, let’s get back to it.” We returned to the study.
“What else can I tell you?” he asked as we took our seats.
“Tell me about Nassouli.” Pierro collected his thoughts for a moment.
“Gerry was a smart guy, charming too. He was a guy a lot of people did business with back then. He was a big schmoozer, and a big deal maker,” Pierro said. “And he was very social. MWB entertained a lot. They sponsored events-concerts, sports, charity dinners, you name it. Gerry was their head guy in New York, so he’d be at all these things. Usually with a cigar and a brandy, and a model on his arm.”
“It sounds like you knew him pretty well,” I said.
“We were friendly. Like I said, MWB did a lot of entertaining. I was on their guest list, along with a lot of other people.”
“When did you see him last?”
“It’s been a long while. We lost touch when I went to London; that was around thirteen years ago. Nothing but company Christmas cards since then.”
“I read in Mike’s file that Nassouli was the treasurer of the New York branch. The kind of deal-brokering he did with you and Textiles, is that the kind of thing the treasurer usually does?” I asked.
Pierro smiled. “Not typically, no. But Gerry wasn’t just the treasurer. He was MWB’s head guy here-their main relationship guy with other banks, customers, regulators, you name it. So it was the kind of thing he did. And he loved it.”
I had no more questions for the moment, and I told Pierro so.
“This was great, John,” Pierro said, smiling. “Thanks for coming by. And thanks for your help on this.” He was looking encouraged again.
“I haven’t done much yet, and, as I keep telling you, there may not be much I can do,” I said. “I’ll poke around MWB, and try to stay away from the feds while I do it. And I’ll try to get a line on Burrows. But our best bet may be to wait until someone contacts you again, and hope that gives us a little more to work with.” Pierro nodded his agreement, but he still looked altogether too optimistic. He walked me to the elevator.
“I hear you, John, and I appreciate the straight talk. But I know if there’s anything that can be done, you’ll do it. I know you’ll look out for us.” He said good-bye as the door slid closed.
I thought about him on the ride down. He had seemed forthcoming in his answers, and sincere in his desire to help, but I knew that appearing guileless was his strong suit, and I was still uneasy. Pierro had come a very long way since night school, and I had no doubt that the distance was much on his mind.
It was colder outside but still clear. The low afternoon sun lit the east side of Park in a rich orange light, and cast the west side into shadow. I was in those shadows, looking for a cab downtown, when I saw Helene Pierro across the street, headed home with her three children. The girls had their mother’s glossy hair, tied back in dark bows. They wore matching navy overcoats, and dark tights on their legs. Alex was still in his stroller, shrieking in delight each time his sister, walking beside him, pulled his knit cap over his eyes. The eldest daughter walked with Helene, who pushed the stroller. She was talking earnestly and at length to her mother, who listened and nodded gravely.