“Did he tell you his name?”
“Just that it was some builder.”
“Donnelly?” she asked.
“I can’t remember. I was real buzzy about him offering to take me to New York and to travel with him. He was making me big promises and, you know, come winter out here, it’s hard to make a living. Summer’s when I make the dough.”
“You get paid for sex?”
Clint’s face tightened. “Moreno offered me a trip, lady. Whatever I get paid for is my own goddamned business.”
“I’m sorry. Please go on. You agreed to accompany him to New York and then what?”
“That I’d see him after this meeting he had was over.”
“Did he say who he was meeting?”
“No, but it was at his property. It’s a huge place over in Georgica Ponds. I was to get there and we’d drive to New York together.” Clint yawned and ruffled his hair. “So I’m packed and ready at seven. This guy was always going on about the place he had in New York just across from Central Park. He sort of made out that he was getting out of his problems, said something about his company crashing but that he might be doing some big deal and his finances would be in better shape and if I wanted we could go to Bermuda.” He was staring at the ocean. “So one of my mates gives me a ride in to the gas station on the corner. I just had to walk across to Georgica Road and over to where Moreno’s house was.”
“Did you meet up with him?”
Clint shook his head. “No. There were trucks and stuff around, big diggers, so I reckoned it had to be the right place. It was still quite dark and there were lights on, but I couldn’t see him or his car, so I took a walk around, and a few streets away I saw his Lexus parked, which I thought was odd. I hung around it for a while, maybe ten, fifteen minutes, then started walking back along the lane. I could hear machines turning over, so I reckoned the builders were starting work. I headed into the drive, and the noise was really loud. Then it stopped, so I kept walking, and what had been making all the noise was a machine to flatten down the earth in the bottom of the swimming pool.”
“So work had started?”
“I dunno. There was just this one guy working the big compressor machine. There was no one else around. I wondered if maybe I’d got the wrong place. Like I said, Alex’s car was some distance from the site.”
“Did you go in?”
“No. I stood watching for a while, then I left to go back to the Lexus.”
“Could you describe the man you say was using this machine?”
“Er, not really, he was a good distance away from me. But it wasn’t Moreno. Too big for him.”
Sylvia licked her lips. She opened her bag to look for the photograph. “What did you do next?”
“I hung around at the car, maybe another ten minutes or so, then I went back to the garage cos I had Moreno’s cell phone number. There’s a pay phone there, so I reckoned I’d better call him and find out what was going on.”
“Did you get hold of him?” she asked impatiently.
“No, I tried, but it just rang then clicked into his message service. I wasn’t sure what to do and I was hungry now, so I grabbed some breakfast. I was thinking of giving up, then decided I’d check one last time to see if Moreno’s car was still there. Then, just as I was heading back across the road, I saw it turning left onto the highway. He had to drive right past me almost. I waved and yelled, but it just drove on.”
“With Moreno driving?”
“No, it was the guy I’d seen by the pool. I never got a good look at him. All I could see were wide shoulders-he was hunched over the wheel and in profile to me.”
“Then what?”
“So now I go back again to the building site. Figured maybe this guy was getting coffee or somethin’ for Moreno. It was quite a walk, and I had a big bag to carry. All the guys were starting work. They were concreting over the bottom of the swimming pool for the lining.”
“Did you see Moreno?”
“I asked if anyone knew where he was, but nobody had seen him. I finally gave up and went home.”
“Did he contact you again?”
“No. I called his cell phone a few times, but it was dead.” He shrugged. “That’s it.”
Sylvia was chilled to the bone, but she wasn’t through, not after paying out five hundred dollars. She brought out the photograph of herself and David at the Christmas party. Her hand shook, partly from the cold and partly because she knew this might be the confirmation she had been looking for.
“Was this the man you saw at the building site?”
Clint looked at the photograph intently. There was a short pause and Sylvia held her breath.
“I think so. Can’t be sure, though. Now I think of it, the guy I saw had reddish hair and this guy’s blond, right?” He tapped Edward de Jersey’s image.
She sat tensely. “Is this the man who was at the building site?”
Clint took a deep breath. “I’m pretty sure it is. But, like I said, it was dark, and when he drove past me I only got a profile. But it could be him.”
“Could be isn’t good enough,” she said. “Please, really look at the photograph. It’s very, very important.”
Clint sighed. “It was a while back now, three months.” He stared hard at the photograph. “Yes, it’s him.”
Sylvia replaced the photograph in her handbag and smiled. Her lips were almost blue it was so cold. No wonder de Jersey hadn’t wanted to help her trace Philip Simmons. He’d threatened her, and now she was pretty sure that those threats had been designed to throw her off the scent, but she’d show him! Edward de Jersey, alias Philip Simmons, was going to pay her handsomely for what she had discovered.
20
Over lunch a couple of days later, Christina told de Jersey that she was planning a dinner party.
“Who do you want to invite?” he asked, as he unfolded his napkin.
“I don’t know. Maybe some of the jockeys and trainers, make it a fun evening.” She ladled out the spinach soup. “What do you think?”
“Sounds good to me. We’ve not had a staff get-together for a long time.” He broke up his bread and dipped it into the soup.
“Shall I organize it, then?”
“Sure.”
He looked up in surprise as her roll hit his head. “What was that for?”
She glared at him. “Do you think I’m blind, stupid, or what? I want you to stop treating me like a child and start telling me the truth. The yard is like a morgue. The entire east wing is empty, and half of the staff are missing. We’re in dire financial trouble, aren’t we?”
“Ten points.”
“Don’t use that sarcastic tone with me.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was using any specific tone.”
“God, I hate you when you’re like this. It’s like I’m sitting opposite a stranger. If things are bad, then we should discuss it like adults.”
“And what could you do about it, my darling? Did your mother leave you a vast legacy?”
She stood up, walked round to him, removed his soup plate, went to the kitchen, and threw it into the sink. She returned with a large bowl of salad and banged it down on the table. “Help yourself.”
“Thank you,” he said. She returned to the kitchen and came back with a roasted chicken. She banged that down too, jabbed it with a carving knife, then returned to her seat.
“Throwing a tantrum, Christina, is not going to help. Pass me your plate and I’ll serve.”
It whizzed past his head and crashed against the wall. “I’m waiting for you to tell me what is going on,” she said. “Or do you want me to go out and ask Donald Fleming?”