First, Kill the Lawyers, page 23
“Hayley told me something about her relationship with the Guernseys, which you confirmed earlier,” I said. “But Maura told me that the Guernseys all adored Hayley, especially the old man.”
“The Guernseys aren’t very good at expressing affection,” Brooke said. “Maybe they do love her in their own way. All I know is that during the time I was at Axis Mundi they were sniping at each other constantly.”
“What do you think, Taylor?” Helin asked. “Do you think that Hayley will keep her promise?”
“My impression is that there is only one copy of the files that were hacked. Until Hayley willingly gives it up, I don’t know what to think.”
* * *
I called Freddie. He said, “Now what?”
I said, “Now we wait.”
“You’re sure about this?”
“I made it clear to the lawyers that we now know exactly what was stolen from their computers. If they haven’t figured out that we’re also in contact with Hayley, they soon will. One or more of them will contact their clients. I asked John Kaushal to do just that. Eventually someone will contact us and the negotiations will begin.”
“What are we negotiating again?”
“We’ll return the hacked files.”
“Which is what we were hired to do.”
“In exchange, whoever is trying to snuff Hayley backs off.”
“Which we weren’t hired to do, protect the girl. I got no problem with that, though. Should I tell you my problem?”
“Please do.”
“Instead of cuttin’ a deal, what if they send the sniper instead?”
“I’m just playing this by ear. If you have any suggestions…”
“No suggestions, just another problem.”
“My old man used to say, ‘Don’t bring me problems, bring me solutions.’”
“Yeah? My old man used to say, ‘Shut up and listen.’”
“What, Freddie? What’s your problem?”
“O’Neill. I hated the racist mother, but someone’s got t’ pay for O’Neill. Siegle, too. I got no concern for those other dipshits. But like you said, O’Neill was one of us, and Siegle, he was probably the only innocent guy in the room.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“What are we going to do about it?”
“The best we can.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Hayley waited for Alex to leave the kitchen before she leaned toward me and whispered, “I’m not sure I like her.”
“What’s not to like?”
“She’s so demanding. This morning, she wouldn’t let me have breakfast until I gave her all my clothes and took a shower. While I was in the shower she put my clothes in a washing machine.”
“What a bitch.”
“I know, right? She let me borrow one of her robes. I saw in her closet. Alex has a Little Bo-Peep dress, did you know that?”
“For Halloween, I’m sure.”
“A French maid outfit, too.”
“Alex does like her masquerade parties.”
“Look at me.”
I did. Gone were the piercings and the grungy clothes. Hayley’s hair was clean and shiny and cut short so that it just grazed the top of her shoulders. Makeup highlighted her green eyes while obscuring the tiny holes that had been previously filled with metal. She was wearing tight black jeans and a slate-gray crewneck sweater that both revealed her curves and hid her ink. When she’d first come to Alex’s door after I arrived, I’d failed to recognize her. I thought she was one of Alex’s students.
“She did this to me,” Hayley said. “It’s like I’m wearing one of those costumes in her closet. She was sneaky about it, too. Took me shopping. ‘Try this outfit on, oh it looks so cute, no don’t take it off. When was the last time you had your hair done, oh it’ll be fun, we should look at some makeup, too.’ She’s devious.”
“I like your hair,” I said.
Hayley brought both hands up and smoothed the back of her head.
“I have curls,” she said. “A wave. I never knew because I had always worn my hair long and the weight straightened it out.”
“You’re very pretty.”
Most women would probably have accepted the compliment whether they believed it or not. With Hayley, I should have known better. She stood from her chair and glared down at me. Her eyes flashed defiance.
“I was pretty before,” she said. “You didn’t notice because you’re a conservative old man who expects a woman to dress in a certain way and act in a certain way and then puts her down when she doesn’t meet your expectations.”
“What do you mean, old?”
“You want to sleep with me now, don’t you? I can tell by the way you look at me. You didn’t before, but now that I’m presentable—”
“I don’t want to sleep with you, Hayley.”
“Why not?”
“There are so many reasons I don’t know where to begin. How ’bout the fact that you’re only eighteen?”
“Are you one of those guys who divides his age by half, adds seven years, and decides that’s the limit, that’s where you draw the line? By that equation my stepfather was still twelve years too old for my mother. It didn’t bother him.”
“It would bother me.”
“Don’t lie, Taylor. Men only want one thing from women.”
“That’s not true. Sometimes we want them to do other things as well, like clean house and cook dinner.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
Alex hurried into the room.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Hayley answered.
“Battle of the sexes,” I said. “I think I’m losing.”
“It’s not funny, Taylor. Women are treated like shit in this country and don’t tell me it’s only a few men who do it. If that were true, we wouldn’t need the Me Too movement. No, Taylor, it’s tens of millions.”
“He isn’t one of them,” Alex said.
Hayley’s eyes flew from me to Alex and slowly came back again. “Then he’s one out of a hundred,” she said.
I decided it was the closest I’d get to an apology. On the other hand, I didn’t really deserve one.
“I met your mother,” I said. “She came to my office.”
“Mother.” Hayley spoke the word as if it were an obscenity. “Did you tell her where I was?”
“No.”
“What did she say?”
“She cares about you very much. She wants you home. She wants you safe.”
“Did you—do you believe her?”
“There was a guy pointing a gun at me at the time, so yeah, I believed her.”
“Was it Mr. Fisk?”
“No. An Orono cop named Cerise.”
“I don’t know him. Probably a boy-toy.”
“Your mother has boy-toys?”
“She’s forty-two years old and beautiful and she’s married to an eighty-year-old man who hates everyone and everything. Why wouldn’t she have boy-toys?”
“Love. Loyalty.”
“What are those?”
“You know exactly what they are,” Alex said. “Don’t you dare pretend that you don’t.”
“Alex—”
“You keep telling me how badly people treated you. How badly did you treat them?”
“I never meant to hurt anyone.”
“Of course you did, Hayley. You left home eleven days ago with the intention of destroying your family. I can’t speak for your mother, but if you were my daughter I’d be climbing the walls with worry. I’d be calling the police and the hospitals. I might even point a gun at somebody to make them tell me where you were.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. I had the impression that she wanted to say more but couldn’t make the words come out. That was okay. I thought I knew what she wanted to tell us. That she wished she could get a do-over, a chance to make it right. Only life seldom worked that way.
Alex draped her arm around Hayley’s shoulder, and the young woman curled against her chest.
“What am I going to do?” she asked.
“The best you can,” Alex said.
Where have I heard that before? I asked myself. I fished Hayley’s cell phone from my pocket and slid it across the table and told her what my father had often told me. “It wouldn’t hurt to call your mother once in a while. Just don’t turn on the GPS.”
At the same time, my own phone rang. I checked the caller ID and answered it. I left the room, speaking low so the two women wouldn’t hear me.
* * *
I understood why she selected the parking lot of the Calhoun Beach Club near the Uptown area of Minneapolis for our rendezvous. It wasn’t the kind of place where a chauffeur-driven vehicle would draw attention. The car pulled up to where I was leaning against the back bumper of my Camry. The driver got out and opened the rear passenger door.
“Get in,” he said.
The driver was bigger than I was and looked fit. He was dressed all in black, including his shirt, but wore no hat. His sand-colored hair trembled in the wind.
“No,” I said.
He looked at me as if I had called him a dirty name.
“Get in,” he repeated.
“My mother told me when I was a young boy to never, ever get into a car with a stranger. What about your mother?”
He let go of the door and turned so that he was facing me. There was a discernible bulge in his suit coat beneath his left arm. He flexed his fingers, and for a moment I was transported to the Wild West. Was he really going to draw on me?
“Oh, for God’s sake,” a woman’s voice said.
A moment later its owner appeared. She was wearing a skirt that was short enough that I could see her knees as she swung her legs out of the car and stood up. She was also dressed completely in black except for the single strand of pearls around her neck.
“Are you Taylor?” she asked.
“I am.”
She approached, her right hand leading the way. I shook the hand.
“I’m Melissa Guernsey,” she said.
“A pleasure.”
She tilted her head at the driver. “Mr. Fisk,” she said.
“Mr. Fisk,” I repeated. I offered to shake his hand, yet he would have none of it.
“Is Hayley all right?” Melissa asked.
“She’s fine. Would you like to step into the club and talk?”
“It’s such a lovely afternoon; walk with me, Taylor.”
Fisk clearly didn’t approve of that idea, only Melissa dismissed his protests before he could even make them. “Park the car,” she said, and together we strolled toward Lake Calhoun. It was difficult to cross Lake Street during rush hour without getting run down, and by the time we managed it, Fisk had caught up. Melissa and I began to follow the asphalt path around Lake Calhoun, mixing with the joggers, inline skaters, and other walkers. Fisk followed a discreet thirty yards behind us. Melissa glanced back at him.
“Mr. Fisk isn’t my driver, despite what you might think,” she said. “I have my own car, after all. Nor is he my bodyguard. Nor is he my friend. He’s here to keep an eye on me while I talk to you. Father’s orders.”
“I don’t know what to make of that.”
“Do you know my father, Taylor?”
“I’ve heard of him.”
“What have you heard?”
“Nothing good.”
Melissa thought that was worth a chuckle. “He’s not one to suffer fools gladly,” she said, a phrase that I immediately translated into a single word—“prick”—but didn’t say. “Tell me about Hayley. You said she’s okay?”
“She was fine the last I saw her. She gave me a lecture about our sexist society.”
“That’s my girl,” she said. “When did you see her last?”
“Melissa—”
“Taylor, what will it take for you to return her to us? Name your price, and please don’t get all large and emphatic. Don’t tell me that you can’t be bought.”
“Of course I can be bought. That’s why I had business cards printed up. Melissa, do you people think I kidnapped her? That I’m holding Hayley hostage?”
“She’s been gone nine days.”
“Eleven. Haven’t any of you people been paying attention?”
“She’s gone off for a few days at a time without telling anyone before.”
“I got that impression. It might interest you to know, Melissa, that Hayley’s mother hired me this morning to find her daughter.”
“She did? Maura didn’t tell us. I wonder why.”
“My question is, why didn’t your family contact the police in the first ten minutes after you realized that she was gone? Why didn’t you contact the media?”
“You know why.”
“Pretend I don’t.”
“Don’t play games, Taylor.”
“Why did you agree to meet me?”
“John Kaushal said you had information regarding the Peterson murder case.”
“Is that all he told you?”
“He said you probably knew where Hayley was. If that’s true, why don’t you bring her home? Do you want more money? I’ll be happy to pay it.”
“It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“Why?” I was attempting to come up with a good answer, only Melissa beat me to it. “Hayley doesn’t want to come home, does she?”
“She’s concerned about the reception she’ll receive,” I said.
“That girl. We love her so much. I remember the first time I set eyes on her. She was six years old and holding her mother’s hand, the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, and suddenly I’m Aunt Lissa even though she’s technically my stepsister, and all we did from that moment on, my brothers and I, all we wanted to do was spoil her. Yet Hayley fought us every step of the way. She took every compliment as an insult, every gift as a bribe. Simple courtesies like offering ice cream on a warm day were viewed with suspicion. I don’t know why.”
“Sure you do.”
“By all means, Taylor, explain it to me. You’ve lived at Axis Mundi. You know my family so intimately. Tell me all about it.”
“I don’t know your family, but I know those who do.”
“Who? Besides Hayley, who do you know?” Again Melissa answered her own question before I could. “Brooke. You’ve spoken to Brooke St. Vincent.”
“Your ex-pal.”
“No. She’s still my … It was the old man’s doing. How could I be friends with someone who bests the family, was the way he looked at it. The way he insisted I look at it. ’Course, Brooke cheated. I knew she spoke to a lawyer about her prenuptial agreement because I was in the limo with her when he called that night, the night we went clubbing together before her wedding. She told him to send her an email. I heard it. Only I never—I’ve always wanted … How is she, anyway?”
“She seems to be doing quite well.”
“I wish I could call her, but the old man…”
“Which brings me to my point. You were taught that you were a Guernsey and everyone else was a loser.”
“It was my father’s way of motivating us. Not Hayley, though. He never spoke like that to her.”
“Perhaps not, but she was in the room when he said it to you. She heard it every day growing up. And she’s not a Guernsey.”
We walked in silence after that, although there was plenty of noise coming from the many other visitors to Lake Calhoun, automobile traffic, and the footsteps of the man following behind us. We were halfway around the lake when Melissa began telling me her story. Like Hayley’s, it was filled with emotional abuse and unrealistic expectations. Melissa was taught every day that she needed to be better than everyone else, whatever that meant. She still wasn’t sure.
“I asked the old man why he didn’t adopt Hayley,” she said. “He said he didn’t want her to turn out like the rest of us—stupid losers, fat and ugly, brainless, not worthy of love. Imagine hearing that from your father. Imagine being forty years old and living in the same house with a man who says those things.”
My cell phone rang. I checked the caller ID—it was Freddie—and swiped left.
“I apologize,” I said. “Normally when I’m walking with an attractive woman, I’d turn the damn thing off, but the nature of my business is such right now that I’m unable to do that.”
“Don’t, Taylor. Don’t be one of those men.”
“What men?”
“I know that I’m not pretty. I’ve always known. I’m well aware that every man who flirts with me like you just did, every man who approaches me, is interested only in my money and my name. There are no exceptions. It was terribly painful knowing that when I was growing up. Now, though, I listen to the lies men tell me, pretend that I believe them, take what I need—mostly sex, I won’t lie to you, Taylor—and then discard them as soon as they start making demands of me. Clark Peterson was one of them. He hit on me the moment Dawn left the room, arranged secret trysts because he said he couldn’t be apart from me for more than a few days at a time. He was entertaining enough, but I wouldn’t have given him the price of a gas-station cup of coffee. I told him so a week before he … you know.”
“Do you know how messed up that sounds?”
“Yes, I do.”
My head filled with the words I could tell the woman, probably should tell her, starting with the simple fact that I wanted nothing from her, not her money or her name or even twenty minutes of her time. I’d begin with that so she’d believe me when I also told her that she was pretty. Not nearly as pretty as Maura or Brooke St. Vincent, or even Hayley, now that I’d seen her without her disguise, but pretty in her own right. She had nice legs. I noticed them when she got out of her car. I assumed they had mirrors at Axis Mundi, though, so she must have known that. If she didn’t it was because someone told her she was ugly and kept telling her until she believed it. Nothing I could say was going to alter that fact, so I said nothing.
“What?” Melissa said. “No argument? You’re not going to tell me that all I need is the right man to show me how beautiful I really am?”
