“And you still think she couldn’t have possibly made the connection with the Vincenzos? Hell, she might have had mob clients.”
“No, no, I’m sure she didn’t.”
“Did she share her work with you?”
“No, she was as guarded as I was.”
“Then you can’t possibly know who her clients were, can you?”
“Now you sound like a lawyer cross-examining me.”
“Good, that’s my intent. Where is she now?”
“I don’t know. It’s been over thirty years.”
“Do you know what happened to her after you two broke up?”
“I... I heard she got married. To a very wealthy man. He died a few years later, leaving her very rich. She might have gotten married again after that. But I’m not sure.”
“And she never made any effort to contact you? After you became superwealthy? You probably moved in the same circles.”
“I moved to Georgia. She was more of a big-city girl.”
“She should be easy enough to trace.”
“Are you going to do that?”
“I have to do that, Jack.”
“Even if she had anything to do with what happened, do you really think she’ll just confess it to you?”
“I’m not expecting that, no. But I still need to talk to her.”
“Look, despite what I said, I know that it could be possible that Linda was the leak. I... I guess I just didn’t want to even entertain the thought.”
“I’m not saying she’s a bad person, Jack. I’m not even saying she wanted to hurt my family. But for someone who was engaged and then found out her fiancé was going to be the father of another woman’s children? That might have been enough to make her do something she otherwise never would have done.”
“I guess I can see that.”
“I’ll make my own inquiries. But if you come up with anything, let me know.”
“I will.”
Pine clicked off and dropped her phone on the car seat.
Blum said, “I heard most of the exchange. He’s a man clearly in denial.”
“Yes, he is.”
“Chances are very good this Linda Holden-Bryant was the leak.”
“I know.”
“When you find her and confront her, what will you do? How will you work it?”
Pine closed her eyes and took a long breath.
She opened her eyes and said, “When I figure that out, you’ll be the first to know, Carol.”
Chapter 37
Pine was standing on Billionaires’ Row, this time with Blum, staring up at another splinter of a building as a weather system bringing chilly temps and rain passed over the city. They were one block down from the building where Pine had been abducted and very close to the sweeping vistas of Central Park.
“She must have done really well for herself if she lives in there,” noted Blum.
Linda Holden-Bryant had not been difficult to track down. She went by her maiden name, though she had been married twice. Once to a man in his seventies who had died four years into the marriage, leaving his thirty-something widow a fortune worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Then the woman had hit the real jackpot with her second husband, an heir to a French cosmetics empire. After their divorce, she had walked away with more than three billion dollars. Another decade had passed since that divorce, and Pine figured if the woman had just put the money in the stock market she was probably worth over ten billion now.
“Yes she has.”
“Are you surprised she agreed to see you?”
“Not really. She must be as curious to see me as I am to see her.”
“Did you tell her... everything?”
“I told her I know Jack Lineberry. I didn’t tell her how.”
“So why does she think you want to see her?”
“I’m working a case that has to do with Jack. I’m sure that’s what got me in the door.”
“Are you going to tell her that you’re his daughter?”
“Yes, but at the right moment.”
“Which will be when?”
“When my gut tells me.”
They cleared the doorman and concierge after a video of Pine and Blum was shown to Ms. Holden-Bryant, and she cleared their coming up in the private elevator.
The elevator car opened right into the vestibule of her apartment, which they had been told occupied three levels of the building.
“She seems to be even wealthier than Jack,” murmured Pine, more to herself than to Blum.
A butler in full livery greeted them in the vestibule and escorted them down a marble-floored corridor that was lined with paintings that looked like they could have hung at the Met or the Louvre.
They were ushered into a room that they assumed was the library, since it held thousands of volumes on two walls. A fire smoldered in the grate that was bracketed by a soaring wall of stone.
Blum drew near to the flames and put her hands out.
“Arizona never feels this raw,” she said. “That wind cut right through me out there.”
Pine perched on a settee that looked like something Napoleon would have favored and tapped her fingers on the wooden arm.
The fourth wall was covered with photos. Pine rose and went over to study them more closely. There were a number of A-list actors from the previous decade, two Yankee baseball players from another era, and photos of rock stars from the seventies and eighties, each signed by the musician. But all the others were of politicians, both past and current. There was a photo signed by a past VP with “warmest wishes to a real friend.” Translated, Pine knew that Holden-Bryant had donated/raised a shitload of money for the man.
Blum joined her and started to say something, but Pine put up a cautionary hand and then waved at a black lens that occupied a space near the ceiling where two walls were joined.
To the camera she said, “Anytime you’re ready, Linda. Thank you.”
About thirty seconds later another door opened, and a young woman dressed all in black with blond hair in a ponytail, tortoise-shell glasses, and an efficient expression poked her head in and said, “Please follow me.”
They walked up a grand staircase made of marble, metal, and wood to the floor above. They passed along another long hallway, where yet more Picassos and Dalis and Monets hung, until they arrived at twelve-foot double doors painted sparkling white. The woman knocked, received an “Enter,” and opened one of the doors.
Pine and Blum stepped through. The woman shut the door behind them, and they heard her heels tap-tapping efficiently back down the hall.
They looked around. They were in a bedroom. Only it was the size of a large condo. The bed was at the far end. And lying in it was, presumably, Linda Holden-Bryant.
She lifted herself off the pillows. “Please, come closer.”
They walked over, and Holden-Bryant pointed to two chintz-covered chairs set next to an enormous bed on which six adults could have slept without touching one another.
She had on a thin, long-sleeved satin lavender robe that was closed in front. The woman settled back against the plumped-up pillows as Pine introduced herself and Blum. Pine ran her gaze over the woman. She was in her midsixties, toned and fit. Her hair was dyed blond with just a trace of silver roots evident. Her features were sharp enough to hurt someone. The green eyes looked electrified. The mouth was a slash, the chin jagged yet elegant. She was very attractive, so put together it was easy to think of her as ten or even fifteen years younger than she was. She lay under the covers, but a glance at her long legs told Pine that Holden-Bryant was only a few inches shorter than she was.
“I’m sorry to see you in here, but the fact is I have some sort of bug,” she began. The woman’s voice was deeper than Pine would have imagined it would be.
Holden-Bryant glanced at Blum. “Oh, I’m not contagious, no worries there. Full course of antibiotics and recovering fast. But still not quite all there. And it’s so dreary out today. Crushes one’s spirits.”